The Curse of Marriage
by writerspassion18
Summary: Forced into a marriage by a law created long ago, Hermione gets more than she bargained for when she marries into a deadly family curse. (Halloween Trope Fest) (tags: Dark!Dramione, lust, curses, marriage law, murder/death, mild smut, horror/psychological horror)
1. Magic Number 8

"You're hurting me," Hermione panted, but she doubted that he could hear her. At any rate she didn't really want him to stop. Yes, the conjured ropes around her wrists were cutting into her skin. Yes, his thrusts were rough and quick. Yes, she was utterly exhausted.

But she liked it.

There was a thin line between pleasure and pain, and she and Draco tested that line frequently. Tonight was no different. It had been opportune that as Hermione had left the bathroom, solely in her towel, Draco had come home. He had said nothing and done nothing except loosen his tie as he walked over and pulled her towel away from her. Hermione could barely get a smile or a greeting out before Draco dropped to his knees, kissing his way up her leg and dipping his head and tongue between her thighs.

That had been the beginning of a tiresome evening. One that had led to Draco picking her up, throwing her onto the bed, and using his wand to cast two perfect Incarcerous spells to tie her hands to the bed posts. Was there any better use of a bed that had them?

Draco and Hermione certainly didn't think so.

"Are you going to untie me now?" Hermione asked with a smile after catching her breath. She was smiling because Draco was trailing kisses from her shoulders and up her arm to her hand.

"Why?" he softly pondered. He stopped with the kissing when he reached the rope and let his lips lick across her fingers. When he was finished, he looked down at her and grinned. "I quite like when you're like this."

"Only because you like to torment me," Hermione playfully huffed. She looked away from his face, a wicked expression on her own as she noticed his cock very close to her face. She leaned up and licked it once, earning a very arched brow from the blond.

"Do you want me to untie you or not?"

"I won't be able to play with you if you don't."

Draco let the corner of his mouth curl up and he nodded. "Touché."

He finally untied her hands from the bedposts, and Hermione analyzed the damage. Red marks around her wrists, lightly discolored hands, her arms (and all of her) tired and achy. She happily eased herself off of the bed and could almost taste Draco's moan of complaint as she did.

"Forgotten me already?" Draco brooded.

Hermione laughed and lifted her silk robe from her dresser drawer, lazily tying the sash, so her font was still mostly visible. She faced her husband and leaned with one hand on her dresser top as she addressed him. "I'm exhausted, thirsty, and hungry. So, off to the kitchen I go."

"All that means is that you'll have to play with me in the kitchen."

"Or the living room," Hermione shrugged. "That's always been fun."

Draco's mind instantly filled with memories because yes, they'd had several moments in their living room to make their bedroom jealous. In fact, if his wife was headed in that direction, he'd might as well join her.

He quickly hopped out of bed, slipping on his pants from earlier because Merlin knew how much he loved when she undressed him. He made his way through the modest, yet lavish house and found Hermione not in the kitchen, but in the living room. It was quite opportune, but Draco, unfortunately, had forgotten what he had left there.

"Draco," Hermione said, privy to him having walked into the room. "How many times have I said no dead people in my living room?"

Draco stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked up to stand next to her. A somewhat elderly vagabond was laying on the floor with his throat slashed. Although blood wasn't exactly gushing , there was still a steady stream that had stained the carpet and the hardwood floor. Draco turned to Hermione and pursed his lips.

"Two?"

"Three," Hermione corrected and sighed. "And you made a mess."

"I was in a rush," Draco explained as he wrapped his arms around her torso. "I cleaned myself up first, coming back for him, but the magic… It came on quickly."

Hermione had had a feeling that was what their latest escapade had been due to. The days after the curse's fulfillment were often felt in waves. Effects that she could feel washing over her as Draco stood behind her, a hand on her hip and the other creeping its way up to her breasts.

Eight years. Eight deaths. If the Ministry had known that this would be the result, that marriage law would have never been passed.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Originally posted on AO3, this was written for the Halloween Trope Fest hosted by the Dramione Fanfiction Writers FB group. A 3-chapter story ( _maybe 4_ ). Lightly inspired by the twisted-ness that is the Addams Family.

An enormous shout-out to LightofEvolution for being such a lovely friend and beta :)

-WP


	2. The Repercussions of Selwyn

Eight years ago

"This is insanity!" Hermione hideously scoffed as she set the Daily Prophet down. "Thrown" was a better verb, for she pushed the newspaper so far from her that it nearly slid across the countertop. Harry had saved it from hitting the floor, and he sighed as he re-read the headline.

Ministry Decree: Magical Populace Subject to Century Old Agreement

Harry looked from the newspaper and over to Hermione who had her hands in her hair, quite possibly attempting to rip her hair out. He felt sorry for her. He was exempt from the law that had been recently enacted because he was already married. Ron was engaged, so he was also free from this mess. The only other people who were able to get away from this magical matchmaking were those in committed relationships with the intent to marry. While Hermione could very well find a friend who would agree to marry her, well, it would be the same thing wouldn't it? An arranged marriage, but with someone she'd be sure to tolerate. Either way it was a catastrophe.

"The Ministry knew about this and they didn't tell anyone," Hermione grumbled as she set her hands down. "They knew that this was going to affect us, and they didn't warn people. We could've made preparations!"

"Like what? Made sure you were engaged or married by now?" Harry questioned. "Love doesn't work like that."

Hermione wrinkled her nose and huffed. "It doesn't work like this either."

"Well that's just it, isn't it? This law has absolutely nothing to do with love and all about survival."

"Yes. The only difference is that family lines aren't cursed like they used to be," Hermione grumbled before sulking in her chair. "A dated law to fix a problem that no longer exists. It's absolutely horrid."

* * *

"This is perfect, Draco."

Draco raised a sharp brow at his father who had just finished reading the article that he'd brought him. He had expected outrage. . Instead, he had gotten approval and watched as a contented smile decorated his father's features.

"Perfect?" Draco scoffed. "Nothing is perfect about this."

"No? So you'd rather gradually lose all of your faculties than marry?" Lucius asked with a raised brow to compliment his offspring's. Draco groaned and ungracefully plopped down onto the armchair opposite his father.

"Of course not. I just… I'd rather that my future wife had a choice. The curses on other families are a finger prick compared to ours."

"I don't know," Lucius shrugged. "Feeling like your loins are on fire is an awful family curse. The young Nott certainly married quickly."

Draco groaned louder this time and leaned his head back. It was a bit dizzying this way, but his life had gotten a rather good jostling, so what was the difference?

Lucius stared at his son for several minutes before attempting to comfort him in a rather uncomforting way. "It's only the consummation that's difficult. After that it will get better for the both of you."

"Unless she's like my mother," Draco grimly chuckled. He raised his head up so that he could see his father's face as he asked what he already knew. "She didn't find it difficult, did she?"

Lucius' lips morphed into a smile. A cruel one. "She was a Black. Of course she didn't."

* * *

Hermione was dreading today. She was so unnerved by this whole mess that she could barely sleep last night. She even woke up to vomit twice . In the morning, she didn't even bother to eat because she just knew that she would be upchucking it shortly afterwards. Instead, she sat on her couch, rethinking the Ministry-sealed letter that had come shortly after the Daily Prophet had outed them.

There was a time when curses in wizard families were common. Some were benign like males being born every third generation. Others were more heinous like dying at an early age. And then there were some curses that could only be remedied through the act of marriage by a certain age. As it turned out, it was the latter that was the cause of every witch's and wizard's nightmare in England. Hermione had spent the past four days digging into wizarding history that culminated into an innumerable amount of books, scrolls, and even memories stored in the Ministry's record-keeping department. It wasn't until yesterday that she had come across what she had been looking for. It had been complicated magic, but carried out nonetheless, by a member of the Selwyn family, who wanted to ensure his family's survival. His family had been cursed, and its only remedy was a marriage for his daughter before her twenty-first birthday. He had advocated for not only himself, but for all of the wizard families who were plagued by family curses. The wizarding world was small. What would happen if they died out? What would happen to the magical community?

An exaggeration, Hermione thought, but considering the population size at that time perhaps not wholly impossible. It was unfortunate that the Minister of Magic back then was rather impressionable and so fearful for the future of the wizarding world that he had entered a pact with Selwyn. One where every time the magical populace dropped to a certain number, the pact would be initiated, and the same would happen every one hundred years to be safe. Hermione knew good and well that the population had been on a steady incline since the pact, but that damn one hundred years kept it strong. The Minister's position, no matter who it was, was inclined to fulfill that pact.

And so, here she was, walking down the Ministry's halls all because of a marriage law that the government was obligated to keep. As her Ministry letter had told her, to keep the nature of matchmaking "fair," it had been left to a drawing. A pitiful, dehumanizing drawing of two names who would be linked for the rest of their lives.

"Do you need help, Miss?"

Hermione blinked. She had apparently stopped walking in the middle of the hallway, and now she was thoroughly embarrassed. With a chuckle and a bit of rouge to her cheeks she smiled at the kindly older woman who had put a hand on her shoulder.

"Um, yes, please." Hermione raised the letter in her hand so that the woman could see. "I'm supposed to go to Meeting Room 3. Could you show me? I know that it's on this floor somewhere, but I'm a bit turned around."

"Oh dear," the woman said, a frown instantly adorning her face. "You're here to meet your suitor, aren't you?"

"He isn't my suitor," Hermione snapped, gasped at her own rudeness, and let out a deep, tired breath. "I'm sorry. I'm a bit put off by this whole thing as I'm sure you can imagine."

"It's alright. My aunt had to go through this herself, and so my mother told me she wasn't very keen on the idea either."

Hermione gulped and tentatively asked, "H-how did it turn out for her?"

The woman grimly smiled and shrugged. "They loved each other enough to have three children. So, I guess that means something. Meeting Room 3 is just at the end of the hall."

Hermione watched the woman take off in the opposite direction. She looked down at the letter and noticed how its edges shook. With a soft groan she stuffed the piece of parchment away and kept her hands tucked in her pockets to hide her nervousness. As it turned out, she hadn't been very far from the meeting room. This, however, only ensured that once she had arrived, she hesitated. She stood outside of the room for an eternity before putting her hand on the doorknob and heading inside.

Meeting Room 3 was a bare, four-walled room with nothing but a table, several chairs, and a board for writing. While she wasn't expecting a fanfare, the minimalistic room was adding to her disgruntled attitude. Although, all emotion had been put on pause for the moment for she hadn't been the only person in the room. When Draco Malfoy stopped in the middle of drumming his fingers on the table and looked up at her, there had been no sneer. There'd been no sign of anything honestly, not even surprise. It was either shock or maturity. It had been almost ten years, after all.

"Are you going to sit?"

Draco's words had jostled her. Hermione took two quick steps inside before closing the door behind her. He watched all of her actions, anything to keep his mind off of the fact that this was the witch who would be accompanying him in his misery. What made matters worse was that she wasn't his mother. She wasn't a Black. She didn't have that "instinct" families like his had. What were they going to do?

"Anyone in there, Malfoy?"

Draco took a sharp inhale. It was his turn to be shaken from his thoughts, and he cleared his throat before resuming his finger-drumming. "It's binding, you know," he said after a short pause. He refused to look at her as he spoke and instead kept his gaze on the table. "There won't be a re-drawing of names either. What's done is done and there's…no way out of it."

Like Draco, Hermione hadn't been able to look at him, and instead she had kept her eyes towards her hands. She couldn't help but lift her head at his last few words though. With a lazy shrug and as indifferently as possible she said, "You must hate that it's me then. We don't exactly have the best history."

A slight curl came to Draco's lips and he tilted his head. "No, we don't. And yes, I hate that it's you, but not because of our history. Granger," he closed his eyes briefly before letting his head loll back for just a moment. "You're too good to be married to me."

"Too good?" Hermione echoed. She crossed her arms over her chest and egged him on. "What exactly does 'too good' mean?"

"Bluntly put? I'm going to corrupt you, and there's nothing that you can do about it."

The sound of a chair scratching the floor rang throughout the room. Hermione's heart was bound to burst if it beat any faster, but there was no slowing it down. It wasn't just Draco's answer. It was the way that he had said it. "Blunt" was too light of a term to describe the calm, matter-of-fact tone voice and unblinking eyes that never left hers.

"That's not funny."

The crisp tone that the brunette had spoken in shook Draco a bit, but not enough so that he could calmly answer, "It wasn't meant to be."

"Then what the hell are you playing at?"

"Nothing except giving you insight into the curse that you're walking into."

"Curse?" Hermione didn't move her chair back, but she still leaned forward in her seat with her brows furrowed and her mouth hanging open. "The Malfoys have a family curse?"

"That surprises you?" Draco chuckled. He, too, leaned forward and cupped his hands on the table. "We're an old, pureblood family, Granger. For us not to have a curse would be strange."

"Of course it would," Hermione scoffed. She paused for a moment, her hands running over her face and through her hair as she questioned, "What…what kind of curse is it?"

Draco's face fell and he looked off to the side. "A malicious one. There are so many stories about how it started that no one knows truth from fiction anymore. The fact of the matter is that we know what happens when the curse is fulfilled versus when it's not. It's because of that that the Malfoys have a very questionable history. A very deadly history. And that's the curse. A Malfoy marriage is consummated and maintained by death."

Hermione had heard him, she did, but the words had somehow fizzled in her brain so that she couldn't comprehend him. "I don't think that I heard you properly. Malfoy marriages are consummated and maintained by what? "

"Death," Draco repeated. "Murder, if you want to be precise."

"I don't understand," she gulped. "How is that a curse?"

"Of all the stories that I've heard, the one from my grandfather sounds the most plausible. It was said that Castor Malfoy was a vicious man and fighter and that he lay waste to anyone who upset him. Unfortunately, he killed a man whose wife was a very skilled witch. She cursed the Malfoy family so that whoever would marry into it would die within a few years."

Hermione's eyes bulged and she rose out of her seat in clear outrage and panic. "Malfoy, are you telling me that I'm going to die? "

"Is my mother dead?" Draco countered. Hermione huffed and flopped down onto her seat and urged him with a wave of her hand.

"How did she beat it?"

"She didn't. The curse isn't the same as it originally was because of decades upon decades of tampering."

"What were they thinking?" Hermione quickly reprimanded. "Curses are dangerous enough as it is, but to tamper with one? You could very well make it worse!"

"You're right. And it did get worse. The stories all get fuzzy from the initial curse, but the point is this: the Malfoys are the new age Black Plague. 'Only death and misery make us happy,' or so an ancestor once said. Every Malfoy spouse is required to take a life, and then, as an aspiring couple from hell, continue to do so to keep our minds happy and sane."

Hermione's mouth had fallen open. She kept waiting for the joke. For the upturn of the corners of his lips, the laugh, and then telling her to loosen her knickers and that he was just messing with her. However, the longer she stared into the serious, no-nonsense face of her suitor, the more she shook her head and struggled to find the words to speak.

"Malfoy this is… This is absurd! Do you really want me to believe that your family curse is to kill people? Really? That your parents have been murdering people for the past however the hell long they've been married?"

"They were part of two wizarding wars, Granger," Draco said pointedly. "Plenty of targets."

"It's not possible!" Hermione sputtered. "I've studied family curses, and none of them are that far-fetched!"

"Well, forgive me in forgetting that your scope of wizarding knowledge is only limited by your narrow thinking," Draco sneered. It was his turn to stand now, and he placed his palms on the table as he tried to keep himself calm. "It doesn't matter whether you believe me or not. It doesn't take away from the very real fact that one of two things is going to happen. Either you, by some miracle, consummate our marriage by killing someone, or we both slowly spiral into insanity and depression because a Malfoy knows no other way to live."

"I'd rather go insane."

"So would I."

Hermione had been prepared to argue but she faltered, mumbling out a pitiful, "What?"

Draco smiled a little, albeit a sadly, and nodded. " I don't like this any much more than you do. I'd rather live my life at the edge of my insanity than to take an innocent life. The problem is that the curse always plays out. One way or another it'll be too much, and you'll do it, and then we won't stop."

Silence fell between them and it was suffocating. The pair had gone back to ignoring each other's faces and looking at everything else. Considering the bare room that they were in, there wasn't much. It wasn't long before they were both in their seats again, dreadfully aware that they were still waiting for the Ministry worker to come so the betrothal agreement could be read and signed.

"Curses aren't prophesies," Hermione said after some time past passed. "They can be broken."

Draco had begun drumming his fingers on the table again, and he pursed his lips in disbelief. "If you say so."

* * *

 **Author's note:** Once the last chapter is finished and beta'd it'll be up with the rest! :)

-WP


	3. A Psychopath Defined

The meeting with Granger was rather quiet after their talk. The Ministry worker had come in shortly after that, and then it was completely procedural. He went over why they were doing this, expressed his sympathies, what was expected of them during their marriage (one child, minimum), and then the final signatures that bound Draco and his future wife.

There hadn't been any discussion of a wedding. Quite frankly, Draco was completely onboard with postponing it for as long as their betrothal contract allowed. The longer it took, the longer they could hold off on the inevitable.

Draco exited the fireplace at Malfoy Manor and headed straight for his suite. He was going right for his study and to the liquor cabinet he kept there as he needed something, _anything_ to numb himself from today.

"How did it go?"

Draco aimed his wand without thinking, ready to shoot off a spell when he realized that it was his father in the room. The semi-partial darkness of the study had obscured him sitting in the corner with the very thing Draco had wanted to drink already poured.

The younger blond said nothing and stowed his wand away. He walked over to his father, took his glass, and downed it before sitting down and messaging his left temple.

"The Ministry paired me with Hermione Granger."

Lucius' shock was palpable and he sputtered, " _The mudblood?_ "

"Really, Father," Draco addressed him, a scowl on his face. "Is that any way to address your future daughter-in-law?"

Lucius refrained from snorting and sipped his drink. "The Ministry has a not-so-interesting sense of humor."

"It was a lottery draw. It's not their fault that my luck is hideous."

"A lottery draw," his father repeated with a huff. "With a match like that I hardly believe it. Perhaps I can persuade someone there for another drawing? That way-"

"No," Draco interrupted with a shake of his head. "We'll leave it as is. Besides, Granger and I have already come to a set of agreements."

"You have?"

"Yes, and they're about the curse."

 _"How could you tell her?"_ Lucius hissed angrily. "Our curse is meant to be kept secret. Only the affected are allowed to know!"

"And she _is_ affected," Draco countered. He took a moment to summon the open bottle near his father and let it fill his glass. "The contract is binding. She deserved to know what she was walking into, and so I told her."

Lucius grumbled and urged his son with his head to fill his glass as well. When it was to the top and the glass in his hand, he asked tentatively, "Her reaction?"

"She thought I was joking."

"And then?"

"Long story short: she's not killing anyone, and we'll hold out and fight the curse for as long as we can."

"You can't do that," Lucius berated. "You'll go mad if you do. What's one life, Draco? Your sanity is at stake!"

"And your sanity is gone, although not in the way you fear mine will be," Draco argued. "And it's not just 'one life' as you put it. It's multiple lives. An endless killing spree that the curse makes us feel is okay to do. A license to be a psychopath. Honestly, Father, _you're_ the one who's mad as well as every Malfoy before you." Draco slammed his glass down on the table between them and rushed off.

Lucius' eyes trailed after him, but his thoughts were far away. He thought of the curse and how it had affected his life. How that, yes, he had had his reservations, but the moment Narcissa had made her kill, cementing their union, it had felt...fine. Better than that actually. He had felt euphoric. A Malfoy was either going to go insane from not committing murder, from feeling guilty of that murder, or, as Draco had said it, from accepting what was and reveling in it.

Lucius preferred to be a psychopath.

* * *

It had been four days since signing her betrothal agreement with Draco, and Hermione was exhausted. Harry and Ron tried to help, but there was only so much sympathy and outrage one could take, especially when the situation was unavoidable. Hermione could just imagine what they would be like if she had told them about the curse, but that horrifying aspect she kept to herself. Keeping that detail locked away was the main reason why she was so rundown. She hadn't been able to eat or sleep for her mind kept mulling over the fact that she was destined to go crazy. She wondered how long it would take. A year? Five? What would the symptoms of her insanity be? Would she even notice them?

Hermione groaned and yanked on her hair. It hurt like hell and served no purpose but to aggravate her scalp. She frowned bitterly and massaged the sore spots before determining that she wouldn't be getting any more work done tonight. If she went home now, _maybe_ she could get a decent rest and then get up early for work to catch up. It was a hope at least.

Hermione gathered her things and left the Ministry. She usually took the longer route to the apparition spot when the weather was nice. It woke her up in the mornings and was almost a cleansing from the long work day in the evenings.

But not today.

The sun was gone early, and it was cloudy. It bathed the path to the apparition spot in unusual darkness, and the cold breeze wasn't helping. Hermione held her bag tighter and walked a little faster. Although all Dementors had been rounded up after the war, at this moment she wouldn't be surprised if she saw one. Anxiety and dread were coming from somewhere, but she just couldn't pinpoint it.

Hermione had her wand in her sleeve, ready for use if need be. Her eyes darted wildly as she walked for another five minutes before breathing a sigh of relief when she made it to the apparition spot in a well-hidden alley.

She was about to disapparate when she heard a twig snap. Hermione turned with her wand raised, but it was out of her hand faster than she could comprehend. The next action happened just as fast, and she found herself careening into the wall just behind her. Her head hit against the bricks, and it disturbed her vision and the image of her attacker. All she saw was a black figure coming towards her, and moments later she felt a pair of hands on her neck. Hermione gasped for air as she did everything she could to free herself: prying at and digging her nails into her attacker's hands, bringing her forearm against his, kicking at his legs… Either she was falling weak to this ambush or he was simply too strong. Is this how she was going to die? By getting strangled?

Hermione had far too much pride to leave the world like that, and so she thought hard despite losing sense of where she was. Although she had learned nonverbal magic, she had very little practice with wandless magic and was cursing herself for having not invested in it. Well, it was time now to try. Her vision had clouded over, but she reached out her hand and touched, what she hoped, was her attacker's chest. She ran down a list of spells and charms, trying each one in a desperate attempt, until she heard a scream.

The hands on her neck slipped away, and Hermione was dropped to the ground. She fell onto the cold concrete, coughing and gasping until her lungs received air. It took several blinks to get her eyesight in order, which led to her finding her wand. It had rolled at least a foot away, and Hermione crawled towards it until the handle was in her grasp. She had been prepared to defend herself and weakly aimed her wand to her right, but found the alley empty. At least she _thought_ it was empty. She heard a groan emanating from the ground and it wasn't until Hermione fully sat up that she realized what had happened to her attacker.

Hermione didn't remember saying the spell, but obviously, she had. She gulped and crawled over rocks and mud to the man who was bleeding profusely from his chest. _Diffindo_. She had used the one charm that would do the most damage. Messy damage, if she were to be honest. The sudden realization that a man was dying made Hermione's voice catch in her throat, and she hastily brought her wand to his wrist. The spell she used made his vitals appear in a puff of smoke, and they didn't look good. Hermione hastily rose to her feet and cast a Patronus to call Harry and whomever Aurors he would bring with him. She hoped that any muggles who saw the ball of light flying through the sky would think nothing of it. In the meantime, she had conjured a towel, got down on her knees, and pressed it against the man's chest.

Hermione had to admit that the cry of pain he had uttered was a delight to her ears. He had attacked her, but why? Clearly, it wasn't a mugging. It had been a deliberate attempt to end her life and that did _not_ sit well with her. Even then, she had to try to save him if she was to explain to the Aurors that it was self-defense. And so, she kept her ears open for the sound of them, and her eyes averted from the scene below her. She knew that her actions were futile, for she felt her hands grow wet as they lay on top of the blood-soaked towel.

Some seconds later, Hermione knew that he was dead. It wasn't because her hands were drenched. It wasn't because Harry and the Aurors had come and pulled Hermione away. It wasn't even because she saw them perform their own health check and her attacker's vitals were flat. She couldn't explain her feeling, because she knew that no one would understand. No one except Draco.

"I want to go home. Can I?" Hermione asked Harry.

Harry turned to his supervisor who was shaking his head at the scene. Coroners were here now to take the body away. It was as they were moving the body that the damage Hermione had done could be seen more clearly. A deep gash, perhaps the length of Hermione's middle finger to her palm, was in the middle of his chest. Harry doubted that even if they had gotten there earlier, the man would've lived.

"Mr. Wrigley," Harry addressed with the clearing of his throat. Once he had his supervisor's attention, Harry gestured with his head to Hermione. "Can she go?"

"What? Oh, yes," Mr. Wrigley nodded. "We already have her statement as well as her memory of the incident stored. Miss Granger," he added to her, "if we need anything else from you, we'll send an owl."

Hermione nodded. She prepared her wand so that she could disapparate, but was stopped when Harry put a hand on her shoulder.

"Forgetting something?" he asked as he raised her handbag to her line of sight. Hermione gently smiled as she took it from him and slipped it over her shoulder. "Hermione, I still think you should go to St. Mungo's. Your neck-"

"-will heal," she finished. "It's just bruised. I just want to go home, sleep, and forget that this happened."

"I guess that means you're not up for visitors," Harry chuckled. Hermione gave a short-lived laugh and shook her head.

"Not tonight. I might even stay home from work tomorrow. I guess I'll see."

"Alright. Let me know if you need anything. I'm just a Floo away."

Hermione thanked him and gave him a hug before finally disapparating. She landed in the middle of her living room and immediately threw her wand and purse onto the couch. When she faced the armchair, the feeling that had overtaken her the moment her attacker had died manifested tenfold.

"What took you so long?" Draco asked as he rose from the armchair. He walked over to Hermione and his eyes settled on her neck. She instinctively turned it to one side so that he could properly view the damage that had been done.

"I was questioned by Aurors," she replied. "It was self-defense."

"A death is a death so long as it was you to do it." Draco let his fingers trace the outline of Hermione's bruises, and she didn't even try to control her shudder.

"We're not married yet. Why do I feel this way?" Hermione said as Draco explored the discoloration of her neck with his hands. It was delicate probing with an emittance of warmth. "The moment he died, I didn't care. All I wanted was to see you."

"You're betrothed to me," Draco answered. He was holding her wrists now, and he observed how bloody her hands were. "That makes you mine."

Under normal circumstances, Hermione would cringe at being called such a possessive term. She was a person, not a thing. However, just like recently having killed a man, she didn't mind. For the death, there was no remorse, no guilt, and no repulsiveness at _literally_ having blood on her hands. In terms of Draco, she _wanted_ to be his. The curse was more than he had originally described and she felt it. Hermione had known that Draco was at her house. It had been an instinct she had known in her heart. She wanted nothing but to make him happy, and he wanted the same for her.

Hermione knew then and there that what Draco had said was true. Their happiness was at the expense of other people. A terrible curse indeed.

* * *

 **Author's note:** First off, thank you for the great response for the first two chapters! Looks like Hermione got to kill someone after all. How... convenient. :)

-WP


	4. Love is Just a Word

_Two hours earlier..._

Draco often had tea with his mother in the early evenings as dinner was prepared by house elves. Tonight was just the same, including the brand of tea. Normally, he liked to change it up by having the house elves make a cup different than the night before. However, ever since the discovery of this marriage law and who his betrothed would be, he was a wreck. _Everything_ set him on edge and not even a calming potion could help. He needed to relax, and so he had settled for an overdose of lavender tea in the mornings, afternoons, evenings, and before bed. Whether it was working or not was up for debate.

"Have you and Miss Granger set a wedding date yet?"

Draco fumbled with his cup, and tea spilled on himself, the armchair, and onto the floor. A house elf was there in a flash to clean up the mess and to present a fresh cup of tea.

"Mother, you can't sit in a room with me, quiet as a mouse, and then come up with a question like _that._ "

Narcissa innocently smiled as she put her cup to her lips. "My apologies. I was merely curious."

"Yes, well, you'd might as well stow all of your curiosity away. Granger and I aren't going to be planning anything anytime soon. While it's inevitable, there's no point rushing into it in that case."

"Hmm, I suppose you're right. Although, one might counter that argument by saying that there's no point in prolonging the marriage if it's, as you say, inevitable."

Draco snorted and leaned back onto the couch cushions. "You know very well there's good reason to postpone it. She doesn't want to kill anyone, and I'm not going to make her."

"It doesn't matter what she wants. She's betrothed to you now, and that's just as good as a marriage. Besides, whether you like it or not the curse has taken effect."

" _I beg your pardon?"_

"The curse is in effect," Narcissa repeated. "Your father told me of your and Miss Granger's insistence on fighting the curse, so I took matters into my own hands."

"Matters into your own hands?" Draco echoed. He could feel his cup wanting to fall to the floor again, but he had enough control to set it on the coffee table before that happened. Once his hands were free, Draco swallowed thickly and said, "Mother, I need you to explain to me _exactly_ what you did."

Narcissa didn't respond right away. She briefly looked pass her son and at the grandfather clock that stood behind them. Over the past two days she had used her contacts inside the Ministry to keep watch on her future daughter-in-law. It gave Narcissa an idea of the witch's habits such as when she left work, and judging by the time, everything should be nearly complete.

" _Mother."_

Narcissa's attention reverted back to her son who was impatient for a reply. With a calm sigh she finally answered him. "An Imperiused vagabond has been sent to Miss Granger to attack her."

Draco had heard his mother clearly, yes, but he still had trouble comprehending her. The grandfather clock ticked loudly in his ears, and so did the rushing of his blood. In a sudden moment of clarity, Draco rose to his feet and bellowed loud enough to break the sound barrier.

"How could you do that?! You could kill her!"

"The witch spearheaded, and survived, a war as a teenager," Narcissa said matter-of-factly. "Surely, she could handle one close-range encounter."

"You don't know that!" Draco shouted. "The woman's good with a wand, yes, but everyone's entitled to a slip-up. She could be dying right now for all we know!"

Narcissa kept a careful eye on her son as he yanked on his hair, ruining the careful management he dedicated to it daily. She watched him pace in front of the couch a total of three times before he groaned and called for his wand. It took a couple of seconds, but the wooden vessel came flying through the air and into his open hand. Draco was grumbling furiously to himself now, and he was on his way out of the door when, all of a sudden, he stopped. Narcissa tilted her head slightly, staring at his back as he stood completely still, his arm limp and his wand barely secure in Draco's loose fingers.

A soft smile had drifted onto Narcissa's face, but she didn't want to be overexcited. Instead, she took a deep breath before rising to her feet and casually walking over to her son. She was standing in front of him now, and although Draco's face wasn't entirely a depiction of "blank," he wasn't completely here in the moment either. Narcissa's smile was more than a ghost now and she let it free.

"Looks like your future wife is still sharp with a wand," Narcissa said. Draco's dazed expression waned, and he finally saw his mother. He nearly recoiled when her hand slipped onto his shoulder, and he hated what she said next. "It's an interesting effect, isn't it? Suddenly, nothing else matters but the one you love. Artificial love at its finest, yes, but it doesn't stay that way. The curse opens a door to feelings that you never thought existed. You'll live out the rest of your days happy, drunk in love,-"

"-and covered in blood," Draco swallowed.

"Metaphorically speaking," Narcissa nonchalantly replied before adding on a whim, "or literally. Things can get quite messy once in a while."

"Messy?" Draco repeated. He huffed and finally shook his mother's hand away from him. "How can you be so calm about this? It's not natural."

"I never said that it was. Give in to the curse, Draco. Not only will you feel better, but both you and your spouse will reap the benefits."

Narcissa brushed pass her son and slowly made her way down the hall. Her voice echoed back to him in a chilling manner as she gave her final words, "Tell Miss Granger, welcome to the family."

* * *

All of his life, Draco had heard about the family curse. He knew what it would do if it was activated, and he knew what it would do if it wasn't. Regardless of this foreknowledge, he didn't know how it would _feel_. It was one thing to be described, but words had severely undermined it all. He had known the exact moment that Hermione had killed that vagabond. It was just as his mother had said: nothing mattered. All he wanted was to get to Hermione. It was like a veil had come over him and blurred out everything in his life _except_ for her. Artificial indeed, but Draco was quite enamoured with this falsified version of love.

Despite wanting to go where she was, Draco waited for Hermione at her home. It was bound to be a nightmare at the crime scene and his presence there would only complicate it. Thank Merlin that he was privy to her home address from their first meeting at the Ministry. He apparated to a designated apparation spot near her house, a narrow split-level that he assumed could hold two bedrooms at best. He hoped that it was dark enough that no neighbors saw him using his wand to enter Hermione's house. Once he was inside, Draco flicked on the lights, sat on one of the armchairs and waited.

That "waiting," however, was more difficult than Draco could have imagined. It wasn't to say that he was impatient (although, there were times where he could be), but this curse… It made his want of Hermione abnormal and desperate, and he dug his nails into the palms of his hands with the hope to distract him from his discomfort.

Draco was ignorant to how much time had passed since going to Hermione's house, but he was fully aware when the sound of apparation filled the living room and the very brunette he was anxious to see had come home. If Draco had thought that he would feel calmer when he finally saw Hermione, he was sorely mistaken. His anxiety had disappeared, yes, but a longing for the witch had replaced it.

"What took you so long?" Draco asked. He picked himself up from the armchair and walked over to Hermione. It was upclose that he could properly see the damage that had been caused indirectly through his mother. Her neck was horribly bruised, and when Hermione turned her neck to one side, Draco could make out the faded image of fingerprints.

"I was questioned by Aurors," she replied. "It was self-defense."

"A death is a death so long as it was you to do it." Draco let his fingers trace the outline of Hermione's bruises, and he felt her shudder underneath his touch.

"We're not married yet. Why do I feel this way?" Hermione said as Draco explored the discoloration of her neck with his hands. "The moment he died, I didn't care. All I wanted was to see you."

"You're betrothed to me," Draco answered, recalling his mother's words. He was holding her wrists now, and he observed how bloody her hands were. "That makes you mine."

Draco may not have known Hermione well, but he knew when the wheels were turning in the witch's head. Whatever it was, she had apparently come to a decision, and moments later her lips were coaxing his mouth into a kiss that deepened within seconds. Draco didn't resist, and he doubted that the curse would let him. In fact, the curse changed everything about him when it came to moments like this. Intimacy was a fine wine to be tasted, savored, and allowed to linger. Every touch predetermined to exact the right amount of pleasure, to tease, and to frustrate. Draco's current actions, however, were nothing of the sort.

Quick work was made of Hermione's pants and Draco yanked them down, his nails grazing the outside of her thighs and causing her to wince. She retaliated with a sharp bite of his lip, and he inhaled at the pain, subsequently numbed by her tongue and her hand sliding up his groin to meet the top of his trousers. A guttural groan escaped Draco's mouth when she did, and the damn witch repeated her stride with her hand. Impatient, Draco grabbed her by the shoulders, his cock twitching at the gasp she emitted when he did, and pushed her onto the couch behind her. She landed with a soft bounce and created a beautiful image of wildly tossed hair, legs spread, fingers gripping the side of her underwear, and her bottom lip tucked neatly between her teeth.

Draco watched with eager eyes as Hermione slid off her own underwear and let it fall to the floor in a soft flop. That was all the catalyst Draco needed to free himself of the rest of his clothing before joining her on the couch. He led a parade of kisses, nibbles, and tongue swipes from the curve of her jaw, between her breasts, across her stomach, and between her thighs. Merlin knew that he wanted to stay there the longest, relishing just how much his witch bucked her hips, how tight her hand gripped his hair, and how _delightful_ she tasted. It was Hermione herself that had urged him up, and for a split second Draco paused as he looked into her face and analyzed her.

Before that fateful day at the Ministry, it had been years since he had seen this woman, much less thought of her. They loathed the idea of being forced to marry, and they both feared and abhorred the curse that they were doomed to share. Now here they were, cursed to be in love and destined to carry the weight of death. Draco's only care had boiled down to an obsession with his witch's lips and the way she felt underneath him as slipped himself into her, as her legs wrapped around his torso and drew him in closer, and the sweet nothings they whispered about loving no one else but each other. Deep down, Draco knew it wasn't real, but it _felt_ real, and he'd be damned to let it go.

* * *

Started this fic as part of a Halloween fest last year, and welp, here goes an update on Halloween LOL.

Happy Tricks and Treats!  
-WP


	5. Sleep

Draco didn't go home, nor did he sleep. He and Hermione had shared her couch until well after 2:00 a.m. before transferring themselves to her bedroom and becoming entangled with each other yet again. It wasn't long before the sun had risen, and they both lay on their sides to watch the sun come over the horizon and fill the room with its glow. It was a beautiful sight, but none more tantalizing than Hermione adjusting Draco's arm around her body so that his hand was in close proximity to her mouth. She was planting chaste kisses to his fingertips and running the tip of her tongue along his fingers. From this frame, he could see that her hands were still stained red from the deadly experience last night.

"That'll only start a third round, you know," Draco whispered in her ear, a kiss on the nape of Hermione's neck to follow.

"Perhaps that's my intention. Did you ever think of that?"

"I can barely think."

Had Draco's words been said with a tease, Hermione would have thought it romantic. Since they hadn't, she halted her ministrations and turned her body to the right so that she could look at her future husband. Just as she imagined, his face was stoic to match the bland and deadpan tone he had just emitted.

Hermione sighed and placed a hand on the side of his cheek. "Will it always be this overwhelming?"

"No," Draco answered as he kissed her palm and pulled her close. "There was a fresh kill last night. What we experienced was mania. An unholy high, if you will."

"Unholy is right. Murder should never make someone so...amorous."

"It shouldn't," Draco agreed. "It's heinous and falls in line with just how everyone sees a Malfoy. Sometimes I wonder if the curse was made to fit our perception or if we fell into it. A chicken or the egg cannundrum."

"Would it make you feel better if I said that I think it's the latter?" Hermione replied with a gentle shrug. Draco couldn't help his smile and rested his chin on the top of her head.

"That's kind of you to say, love, but I believe the former. Especially...after your incident last night." Draco tried his hardest not to gulp, but he did and it was loud. To him, at least. Hermione lifted her head from under his and looked up at him, her face laced with worry. His chest sank into his stomach when he stared at her and a wave of emotions hit him. Shame, for starters. Fear was another one. Anxiety was a third. He categorized these under the overarching umbrella of not wanting to disappoint or hurt her, but he struggled to decide if they were all his own. Did his feelings even belong to him anymore?

"Granger, I'm going to tell you something, and...I don't think you're going to like it."

A flicker of fright flashed across Hermione's eyes, but she took a deep breath and urged him with a nod.

"The person you killed last night? My mother sent him. She wanted to put you in a position to kill, and I'm sorry."

Draco had closed his eyes as he spoke, but he opened them one by one the longer his witch stayed quiet. When he could finally see her, her mouth had fallen into a small "O." He could sense the rigidity in her body, and despite it dissipating with gentle strokes of Draco's thumbs along her arms, the surprise on her face had morphed into one of anger and _that_ could not be easily soothed away.

"She had no right to do that," Hermione snapped. "We were going to fight the curse. She had absolutely _no_ business kickstarting it. What if I couldn't handle myself last night? I could've died!"

"I know, and that's what I told her when I found out. Not that she was bothered by intentionally trying to hurt you," Draco added with an irate huff. "Still think that the curse is the only reason why my family acts the way they do?"

Hermione bit her bottom lip. She didn't know the answer to that, but before she could attempt to formulate one an owl began pecking at her window. She was rather thankful for the reprieve and disentangled herself from Draco's arms to rise from the bed. A passing thought reminded her that she was naked, and yet there was no shame. She briefly looked back at Draco who was unabashedly watching her, his hand interestingly resting just below his waist. Hermione didn't resist her smile and returned her attention to the waiting owl. The bird dropped a letter at her feet and flew away. Her name was written in fancy and precise script which usually meant a Ministry letter. There was no seal, however, and when she opened the envelope, her eyes bulged.

"Your mother invited me for breakfast," Hermione announced. "She wants to, and I quote, _'get to know her future daughter-in-law.'_ "

"Of course," Draco chuckled. "Is that all she said?"

A curl came to Hermione's mouth as she walked back to the bed. She sat at the corner of it and showed Draco the letter. Even he couldn't stop the muscles in his face.

 _To my son,_

 _Good morning._

* * *

Hermione and Draco had intended to stay in bed for the day, but seeing as they had been summoned, they headed for the shower. An _awful_ idea in hindsight, for the moment they had stepped into the shower all thoughts of getting clean had gone out of the window. They ended up heading to Malfoy Manor a full hour later than intended because of it, but the heads of the family didn't seem to mind. In fact, it appeared to have been expected.

"You had the house elves lay out breakfast late?" Draco questioned as he and Hermione approached the lanai hand-in-hand. Lucius looked up from his newspaper, his lips fully-formed in a welcoming smile that baffled Hermione more than she could describe.

"Of course. Your mother and I anticipated a tardy attendance. Miss Granger," Lucius added with a gentle tilt of his head.

Floored yet again, but Hermione didn't let on as she and Draco walked over to the intimate table meant to seat only four people. Somehow she had expected something more grand. A large dining table meant for ten guests, maybe more, and Lucius and Narcissa sitting on opposite ends of it while eating their meals in silence. This scene, however, depicted something more...comforting. It was small. It was quaint. It was vibrant as well due the sun that lit up the room. The lanai reminded Hermione of Hogwarts' greenhouses (minus the plants). Through the glass the property on which Malfoy Manor lay could be seen, and it was nothing but a beautiful stretch of green, trees rimming the perimeter.

"I trust that you both had a lovely evening upon yesterday?" Narcissa inquired. There was a happy hum in her voice and a knowing expression as she passed a glance between her son and future daughter-in-law. The insinuation was heavy, but the air was light as she buttered a small piece of toast.

"Yes," Draco answered. "Can we change the subject?"

"If you mean to a tangential one, then absolutely," Lucius replied. "Forgive us," he added to Hermione, "my wife and I are rather blunt, you see. It's a waste of valuable time otherwise."

Lucius was smiling again. They _both_ were. Draco aside, Hermione felt like she was in the middle of a Malfoy trap. While she understood that there was no way out of this arranged marriage, she still expected some sort of backlash from the heads of the family. A scowl. A public disdain for such a Ministry matchup. A slip of the word "mudblood" at the very least. However, Hermione was sitting at a small table, Narcissa on her right, and having her future in-laws politely engaging in conversation and acknowledging her presence with casual nonchalance.

It was unsettling.

Hermione glanced once at Draco, his face unreadable as he stirred his tea with a touch of wandless magic. Despite this, his right hand lay occupied with her left in his, a gentle caress across her knuckles. If he wasn't going to address the erumpent in the room, then she might as well be the one to do it.

"As you both value blunt conversation, then I suppose you wouldn't mind if I asked a question?" Hermione said. She could feel Draco's eyes on her, but she was focused on his parents who seemed to be quite enjoying the prospect of such an occurrence. "It was rather recent that the both of you would have jumped for joy at the thought of my death, and now you're here being cordial with me? Especially considering that, through no push of our own, your son and I are meant to marry?"

"You're stating facts, poppet," Lucius half grinned. "Ask your question."

"My question is why?" Hermione finally asked after brushing off that "poppet." "Absolutely nothing has changed about me-"

"—except that you killed a man last night," Lucius finished. "An orchestrated killing, so my wife has informed me —brava," he added to her with a fond lilt to his voice. Narcissa blushed, if Hermione analyzed the woman's features correctly for it was such a rare sight. "Draco can attest to the fact that I wasn't the least bit pleased with the Ministry's match for him. Someone of your... _stature_ with my son? It also wasn't comforting to know that you both had opted for insanity versus the peace of mind that our family curse gives.

'Yet, here we are, happily cursed together," Lucius chuckled. "At your core you are a Malfoy now, Miss Granger. That warrants good behavior on our parts."

"Towards me, yes, but not towards others." Hermione turned her gaze towards Narcissa and shook her head in disappointment. "You sent an innocent man to die. The curse had no bearings on what you did."

Narcissa cocked a brow in the air, a coy expression appearing almost immediately. "Your point being, dear?"

"You have no remorse over it at all, do you?"

"Do _you?_ "

Hermione wasn't prepared for her question to be shot back at her, and she hated that she hesitated. Even more so that Narcissa and Lucius noticed. "...In my head I know that I should, but in my heart? My conscience? I feel nothing."

"Precisely," Narcissa nodded. "Do you want to know why I had taken to this wedded burden so easily? It was because my heart was just as black as the curse, all puns aside. Men and women who marry into the Malfoy line tend to already be inclined to the sort of life we live. Deception, underhanded dealings, you name it. With regard to your new predicament, it's unfortunate that your soul is quite...untainted. And while my son is no saint, he's better than the lot of us and he, too, has an angelic heart. Your mind and recently transformed heart are at war, darling. You _know_ what is right, but you will follow your baser desires every time. Silence your mind, Miss Granger. It will only ruin you."

"To baser desires," Lucius mockingly cheered as he raised a glass filled with pumpkin juice. Narcissa raised her glass just the same and tapped it with his. The soon-to-be newlyweds neglected their own glasses and instead clasped their hands tighter under the table, preferring not to be so joyous at such a decadent idea.

* * *

"Does it count as _good behavior_ for me to say that I find your parents absolutely nauseating?" Hermione asked once she and Draco had made it back to her house.

The rest of breakfast held less talking and more eating, but what little conversation that was had was still rattling around in Hermione's head. Narcissa had been eager to discuss wedding plans. She was hoping to plan a "luxurious affair." This was not only because her one and only son was getting married, but also because she wanted to quiet those who had negative words to say concerning the new family addition. Lucius, on the other hand, nearly caused Hermione to choke on her food when he spoke of children. He addressed how that it was "imperative" that she and Draco have a son, and that if that wasn't the case, they simply had to try again despite the Ministry's decree that only one child was necessary. Needless to say, the entire morning made Hermione dizzy. Draco's sudden jovial nature didn't help either, but she was more forgiving where he was concerned.

"Let me guess," Hermione girlishly giggled as Draco waltz with her behind her couch. "Mandatory formal dance lessons arranged by your mother?"

"Arranged by my father," Draco corrected. He laughed when he saw Hermione's expression shift to one of shock and gave her a gentle twirl out and pull back into him. They paused for a moment so that Draco could slip her hands around his neck and so his could glide over hers, up her arms, and slowly down to the curve of her back. "Of the many Malfoy rules my father taught me, one of them was to be fierce with men, but delicate with a woman. Dancing, so he said, was a way of doing so. A method of control, finesse, and, of course, wooing."

"Is that so?" Hermione released her own laugh before proceeding to kiss just below Draco's jaw. "I would kill to hear your father say such a thing."

"Kill you say?" Draco said at just above a whisper. It sent a tingle through Hermione's lips as they passed against the flesh of his throat. However, it wasn't just because he spoke, and that was when she realized yet another sinister aspect of the curse that now ruled her life. The simple _idea_ of murder gave her an inappropriate joy. One that she was finding hard to ignore.

"Yes," she replied. "I'd do anything for that euphoria."

 _That's not right_ , her conscience rang at a blunted decibel. It was being suffocated by Draco's roaming hands sliding across her arse and riding up her thighs.

"An Avada to the heart?" he suggested. "Slit a man's throat perhaps?"

 _No, no, that's wrong…_ It was just a faint call now. The whistle of a faraway train. The distant echo of a scream from a precipice.

"Maybe even a touch of poison," Hermione offered. She raised her head to meet the eyes of her future husband and Draco smiled broadly before nuzzling his nose with hers.

"You _are_ Mrs. Malfoy," he said softly.

Yes, she was.

Her mind was quiet now.

Her conscience sleeps.

* * *

 **Author's note:** It's been a while since I was able to post so often. I've missed it lol.

Happy reading :)

-WP


	6. Blood Rush

"Are you _sure_ that you're okay?" Ron asked for the millionth time that morning. He had absolutely no idea just how prepared she was to hex his mouth shut.

" _Yes,_ Ron. You can stop asking me," Hermione groaned, but the statement wasn't heeded. He was sitting in front of her desk in her office, his eyes wide like a puppy's, words tumbling out like the frantic apology of a cheater.

"But the wards," he continued. "They were everywhere. And your fireplace? Blocked! You never do that. Harry nearly sent Aurors to break them all down!"

Hermione had the decency to look a bit guilty at that. She could feel Harry's worried gaze on her from across the room as he leaned against the wall beside her door. Yes, there had been wards over her house for the past twenty-four hours, and yes, her fireplace had prevented anyone from visiting her. Unbeknownst to her until late last night, that had been Draco's doing. While he didn't give two shits about Harry and Ron (or any of Hermione's friends, really), he hadn't felt like being harassed by anyone should they had come over unannounced and found him leaning his fiancée over her couch and taking her from behind. In hindsight, Hermione was quite grateful for that.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "As I'm sure Harry told you, I had a rather traumatic experience the day before. I just wanted to be alone, that's all."

"As long as you're okay," Harry said with a soft smile. "We were worried, you know?"

"And that's much appreciated, thank you," Hermione replied to him. Although still concerned, Ron smiled too, and tension finally drained from the room. It would have stayed that way had a letter not materialized onto her desk.

She recognized the handwriting as that of her future mother-in-law and opened it immediately. As expected, it was about wedding plans. Narcissa had been writing to her since the conclusion of breakfast yesterday morning. The woman was tickled pink at the prospect of planning the "wedding of the century," —something of which the brunette was quite happy about. Weddings, while beautiful and lovely ceremonies, always left her questioning their extravagance. Was it _really_ necessary to have flowers hanging from the ceiling? Crystal chandeliers? It just screamed of financial debt. However, curse aside, Hermione had lucked out in the marriage draw and landed a wealthy suitor. She would let Narcissa propose what she thought best without complaining, choose what complimented her tastes, run it by Draco, and then send off the final decisions to his mother. This letter in particular was asking about centerpieces for the guest tables.

"What does _she_ want?" Ron questioned with the deepest level of disgust he could produce. Clearly, he had seen Narcissa's signature at the end of the letter.

"There's no need to sound so offended," Hermione huffed as she replied to Narcissa's note. "It's about the wedding. She's helping me to plan it."

"I beg your pardon?" Ron sputtered.

With her quill still scribbling away, Hermione briefly looked up from her writing to find what she had expected: a mixed expression of horror and confusion. She dared a glance at Harry, still in his corner, and found only confusion.

"You heard what I said, Ron. I _am_ getting married, remember?"

"Yeah, but _against your will._ Why are you having a wedding?"

"Maybe because it's my only chance to have one?" she exasperatedly replied. "The circumstances surrounding this whole endeavor are frustrating at best. The least that I can do is try to make it work."

"And you need Malfoy's mum's help for that? Why would she even care?"

"Oh, I don't know, Ron, perhaps because I'm marrying _her son?_ Merlin, am I going to expect this kind of behavior from you right up until the wedding?" Hermione grumbled as she roughly folded her response to Narcissa, sealed it in the original envelope and tucked it away to send later. Ron opened his mouth to speak once she was finished, but closed it at the feel of Harry's hand on his shoulder.

"I think he's just surprised," Harry intervened. "Last we were aware, the Malfoys weren't exactly fond of you, heritage aside."

Hermione snorted and cracked a small smile. "As if they are now? They're making the best of this situation. There's really no point in fighting it."

Hermione missed the looks that Harry and Ron shared due to the knock on her office door. In fact, she had set her eyes on it before the knock was even placed. It was just like the night the curse had taken effect, minus the insatiable pull. A prick in her heart had told her when Draco's thoughts had drifted over to her. That he wanted to see her. Her heart fluttered with anticipation the closer he came, and now that he was here, she ignored Harry and Ron completely to unlock the charms on her door and rise to her feet.

Draco stepped into Hermione's office with an air of superiority that only a Malfoy could embody. His eyes roamed over Harry first with a frown fully set, and then repeated the process with Ron, albeit his mouth morphing into a hideous sneer.

"Figures," Draco huffed before turning a soft gaze to Hermione. "Are you alright?"

"Of course she's alright," Ron scoffed. "She's with us."

"I wasn't talking to you, you little shit."

" _Draco,_ " Hermione sternly hissed. "If I have to tolerate your parents, the least you can do is the same with my friends."

"That's right, Malfoy," Ron laughed. "You'd better be good before I-"

"You do one thing to him and I'll slit you in two," Hermione harshly interrupted. She hadn't meant to sound so vicious, truly, but it had been automatic. The mere thought that someone would hurt Draco, friend or not, had sent her into protective mode.

Ron gulped, once again looking to Harry as though to comprehend what has just happened. Hermione cleared her throat and resettled her attention on her fiancé. He was the only one who appeared to be unperturbed by her outburst. If she dare say it, he seemed both proud and and aroused by it.

"To answer your question, yes. In fact, Harry and Ron were just leaving."

"But Hermione,—" Harry started, but Hermione cut him off with a raise of her hand.

"Please? There's enough testosterone in this room, and one of you is bound to draw a wand at some point. We'll talk later."

Deflated, Harry solemnly nodded and urged Ron with a nudge of his head to follow him. Ron got up with a low grunt and made for the exit, not taking his eyes off of Draco for a moment. An awful mistake, he realized, for the blond seemed happy as ever to make him feel uneasy. Ron and Harry were out in the hall now, Hermione's door closing, but not fast enough to miss Draco take Hermione in his arms, whisper in her ear, and see her smile before he kissed her.

"What the hell?" Ron exclaimed as the door finally closed. He turned to Harry who's mouth had flopped open just the same. "You saw that, _right?_ "

"I wish I hadn't," Harry gulped. "Just last week she was fussing about an arranged marriage, and now she's happily planning a wedding and—"

"—kissing Malfoy…"

Both men shuddered at that last fact, an uncomfortable silence trickling between them the longer they stood outside the door.

"Think he cursed her?" Ron tossed out the idea. Harry frowned and shrugged.

"Normally, I'd say that you're exaggerating, but I don't know. The most we can do right now is just watch her."

* * *

In less than a week Hermione was in Malfoy company aside from her fiancé, but unlike at breakfast two days ago, the brunette was alone. Draco and his father had "business" to attend to which left Hermione to keep Narcissa's company. It was perfect, or so Narcissa said, because then they could get a proper handling on the wedding rather than going through letters.

"And you're sure that you don't want to have the wedding here?"

"Can you ensure that the Manor doesn't have any ancient boobytraps made to attack muggles and muggleborns?" Hermione questioned with an arched brow. Narcissa was poised to speak, but she kept anything that she might have said to herself and acquiesced with a tilt of her head.

"I shall look for a venue then. Something with an abundance of flowers, I think."

"And maybe something scenic? A backdrop of a lake or a cliffside?"

"A cliffside castle," Narcissa smiled brightly as she took down a note on some parchment. "The wedding would have to take place at sunset to take advantage of the view."

Hermione found herself grinning. A sunset wedding did sound lovely. She could see it now with her in a modest gown, Draco before her with the sun bathing his skin in a luscious light. She wanted nothing more than to marry him. It didn't matter if just a few days ago she would have preferred to pitch herself from a tower than to be forced to marry. What she knew was pointless. All that mattered was what she _felt_ , —something of which she would be the first to admit was entirely contradictory to her nature. Feelings were important yes, as was following one's heart, but logic needed to reside there too. As it stood, logic was quite secondary these days.

"Narcissa, can I ask you a question? Something not wedding related?"

Narcissa looked up from her parchment and presented a soft, knowing smile to her. "Curse related, I imagine?"

Hermione nodded. "I just… Do you ever feel out of control? I lashed out at one of my friends yesterday when he made a comment about Draco. It was so instantaneous and harsh. I couldn't help it."

"That, I'm afraid, will always be an automatic action. Draco's the love of your life now. You would do anything to protect him, and he would do the same for you. If anyone threatens that, then Merlin help them. Oh, the times that either Lucius or myself have acted on pure impulse," Narcissa added with a happy hum and a far-off expression as she drifted into her memories. "It has led to messy cleanups, I assure you."

"How you've yet to land in Azkaban astounds me," Hermione scoffed. Narcissa merely gave a half-smirk and the most ladylike shrug she could manage before calling upon a house elf for tea.

"Friends in high places, cunning, and luck," she replied. "When a kill is planned, however, we are much more strategic. We prey on the homeless. The _muggle_ homeless. It's quite easy to disguise a magical death that way, not to mention keep suspicion away from you."

"Of course," the brunette said with a nod. "The Killing Curse is most often diagnosed as a heart attack in a muggle. But I wonder, if I don't kill anymore, will I still go mad?"

"Yes. The madness is insidious. A whisper here and there and feelings of dread. The longer you go without, those whispers turn into screams and you start to see things. In the end, you feel like you're dying."

Hermione's mouth slowly formed an "O" as Narcissa spoke. It wasn't the matter-of-fact way that she had spoken, but rather the sadness that she heard creeping into the older woman's voice. Hermione cleared her throat and tentatively said, "You've felt this before."

The room fell quiet. It made the apparition of the house elf that much louder as the creature set down a tray with a pot of tea and two cups. Narcissa didn't speak as she made hers, and Hermione remarked how the woman's hands trembled ever so slightly.

"As you're well aware, Draco's father was sent to Azkaban at the end of Draco's Fifth Year. That business at the Ministry was Lucius' chance to kill for us. It had been difficult to do so before then with the Ministry watching us so closely. We had already begun experiencing the negative effects. When he had been arrested, it became worse. I…saw things. Things that put Hogwarts ghosts to shame and worse than any nightmare. Not only was I going mad, but I didn't have Lucius at all. As for him, well, to this day he refuses to discuss what it was like in Azkaban. His sanity worsened by Dementors? I shudder to think…

'I know that you think poorly of me for sending that vagabond after you, but no one should suffer the things that my husband and I have. It's far worse than any death you can inflict on another."

"I suppose I should thank you," Hermione bitterly responded. She didn't mean to sound so dejected, but she didn't apologize for it either. Instead, she asked another pressing question. "How long does it take before the madness starts to creep in?"

"That depends on you and Draco. The effects of a kill last as deep as the love a couple has for one another. My suggestion to you is to kill as soon as the whispers begin. You don't want to completely lose your head and then have to kill. There's nothing worse than a wand at the helm of insanity."

* * *

Draco was never particularly fond of going to Gringotts and avoided it whenever possible. Whereas Gringotts on the ground level was bright and welcoming, the vaults were dark and depressing. Carved entirely from an underground cave, it was nothing but jagged edges, never-ending freefalls, and the promise of something wet dripping from above and spoiling the shoulders of your expensive cloak. Thank Merlin for stain-repellent and water-resistant charms.

"Vault 87," the goblin announced as their cart slowed to a halt. Draco mulled over the digits for the Malfoy vault as he and his father got out. It was rare for anyone to have vault number so low. Families with such vault numbers mean that they had had treasures to keep for _centuries,_ therefore the most heavily guarded.

For the Malfoy vault in particular, the price of entry required a bit of pain —and it was red.

"It's your turn," Draco said to his father. Lucius sighed in annoyance, but he took out his wand anyway.

"She's _your_ fiancée," he said as he cut the tip of his finger. With a bubble of blood, he walked over to the entrance of the vault. A giant snake made out of stone sat curled in front of it, its tongue sticking out. It was on the tongue that Lucius placed his bloody finger, and the snake retracted its tongue, the entire stone creature slithering into a newly revealed hole just behind it, and the vault's gates clicking until it opened.

At the risk of sounding pompous, the vault could blind someone if not careful. Everything glittered from galleons to jewels and armour to painting frames. Draco and his father passed all of this to the rear of the vault and to a glass case that held rings in velvet boxes. They were the Malfoy engagement rings. Malfoy men used them to propose to their witches and, through complicated magic, upon the witch's death they ended up right back in their case. Each ring was special. They were imbued with spells to "enhance" the witch and considered a gift from her suitor. His mother's ring was meant for beauty and slowed the aging process due to the jewel (akin to the philosopher's stone) that sat in the middle of the band. Of the rings that were left sat one for protection against harm, another for increased wisdom, and one for never-ending love.

Considering the nature of the Malfoy family curse, no one used the latter unless it was the only ring left. That left the first two for Draco's choosing and an easy choice for the young blond. He reached out for the ring designed for wisdom and stared at it. It was simple in design compared to the others with a silver band and a single diamond in the middle cut into a hexagon. He smiled as he thought of Hermione wearing it. It suited her.

"I would have thought you would choose the one for protection," Lucius said as he watched from the side. "We can't rule out any of our rather unsavory friends to attempt to hurt her."

"While true, I think Hermione can handle herself just fine. Besides," he added as he held up the ring to the light, "she'll appreciate this much more. She does love learning, after all. What better engagement ring than one that emphasizes that?"

"Hmm," Lucius mused as he eyed his son. "How insightful… You know, Draco, despite having courted your mother for nearly a year prior to proposing, I still hadn't a clue as to what her favorite color was. Yet here you are, matching a ring to the personality of a woman you've been at odds with for years."

"At odds with, yes, but not blind to," Draco countered. He slipped the ring into a velvet box and stowed it away in a pocket on the inside of his cloak. When he looked up, he found his father staring at him with the most peculiar expression. It prompted the young blond to expel an exaggerated sigh. "Don't give me that look. I went to school with the woman for years. I was bound to pick up something about her that wasn't curse-induced. Shall we go?"

Lucius' lips curled upwards, but he said nothing more. He followed his son out of the vault and it closed itself once they were both gone from it. The goblin who had accompanied them had been waiting, and they took the rather lengthy journey back up to the surface so that they could return to their women. Draco was quite sure that Hermione would be bored out of her mind by now. At least she wasn't stressed by anything. Her discomfort, he could freely admit, was something that ached him. He didn't have to be told that she was upset, he simply _knew_. It was why Draco had suddenly left his office yesterday and went to hers. That damn Potter and Weasley… It was as instantaneous as the night she killed, and he just _had_ to be there.

"We should go out for dinner," Lucius said once they had left Gringotts and began their journey through the streets back home. "You can present Miss Granger with the ring then. I think it would please your mother to see the young witch's reaction. What do you think, Draco? Draco?"

Lucius paused his walking for a moment to turn to look at his son, but Draco's hand on his upper arm kept his father from stopping completely.

"Just walk," Draco hissed. Lucius' brow twitched, but other than that his face remained still. He did as his son said and kept his pace. Instead of heading towards the Leaky Cauldron, they walked passed it. They made their way towards Knockturn Alley —an action Draco took, not for precaution, but simply to see if their stalker would continue to follow.

He did, and while impressed, Draco was also at his wits end. He caught his father's eye and moved his gaze through the mist to an upcoming alleyway darkened even more than Knockturn Alley itself. Lucius nodded and they disappeared into the silvery fog before slipping into the alley. Their fair features made such an action laughably easy, but red hair was almost impossible to mask without magic or at the very least some kind of hood or hat.

Draco grabbed Ron by the lapels of his cloak and pulled him into the alley. Lucius was waiting for him with his wand at the ready. A simple body bind, but the variation used didn't let him fall to the ground. Ron was a solid statue, frozen in his movements like a poorly crafted piece of artwork.

"Mr. Weasley," Lucius drawled as he tucked his wand away, "what an unpleasant surprise."

Ron's eyes were the only things he could move, and although a heated glare required facial muscles around the eyebrows and cheeks to be fully executed, hate was interestingly easy to discern.

"You're either very brave or very foolish for following us, boy."

"Foolish," Draco deduced and took a moment to set up charms and barriers on the alleyway so that no one could hear or see them. When he was finished, he turned back to the frozen menace and smiled. Hate had dissipated and was slowly being replaced with fear.

A sudden rush flooded Draco and from the corner of his eye he could see that his father had a similar blood lust in his eyes. He wondered, though, if it was because of the curse or simply because they both had a deeply-rooted disdain for the man who was now at their mercy.

"You know, with the spell my father used, I could topple you and you would smash into pieces." Draco stood in front of Ron with one arm behind his back, his wand hanging in his free hand and lightly tapping against his leg. "One good _push,_ " he happily sighed, the tip of his wand sticking in Ron's chest, "and you could be swept away by a gust of wind. And do you want to know the irony of that? Doing so would only make Hermione and I get closer."

Ron made a muffled noise, but both Malfoy men laughed at that. Draco lowered his wand, however, and tutted.

"It's a shame that your death would make her upset. I would have loved to kill you."

"You're going to let him go?" Lucius stared at his son quizzically. Draco nodded, a frown slowly forming.

"I don't have a choice. I live to make my witch happy, you know that. You understand what it feels like."

"I do," he replied with a solemn nod. "I must point out, however, that she won't be very pleased with our treatment of him."

"Nor with his stalking behavior," Draco added. "Regardless, precautions shall be set." His wand that had been limp at his side was raised again and aimed at Ron's head. "Obliviate."

Ron's eyes went wide as the spell left Draco's lips, but there was nothing that he could do. Draco didn't erase much, but enough to remove this moment from the alleyway from the redhead's mind. When he was finished, a Stunning Spell rendered him unconscious, yet still within his statue form.

"We've been away from home long enough," Draco said once he was through. "We should go —and yes, I think giving Hermione the ring over dinner would be a lovely gesture."

"Good," Lucius said proudly before giving Ron one last look. "With any luck an unsavory character will find him and finish the job."

"Here's hoping," Draco chuckled as he took off the spells he had placed on the alleyway. When he was through, both he and his father continued on their journey back to Malfoy Manor.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Hermione's the only reason Ron isn't dead. Whew! Thanks for reading everyone!

-WP :)


	7. The Smile

"We would have our own wing," Draco was saying to Hermione. "It would be like having our own house."

" _Feel_ like and actually having our own house are two different things. The Manor is lovely, yes, I admit that, but it's so…impersonal. Like this massive space we're just passing through. Does that make sense?"

"Not at all."

"Quite the brick wall you are," Hermione huffed. Draco grinned at the comment and pulled her close. She resisted for a moment before settling in his arms like he knew she would.

"Let me guess, you'd prefer a small three-bedroom home of some sort?"

"Something like that, yes."

Draco snorted. "I feel claustrophobic already."

"My house must render you catatonic then," Hermione teased.

They had been debating back and forth about where to live after they got married for the past half an hour. They had gotten on this topic after Hermione made comments about his bedroom and how lavish it was, and his reply was that their wing would be better. Now, spending the night in Malfoy Manor (something she never thought she would ever do unless as a prisoner) was one thing, but living there? The Manor had its charming qualities, but there was no warmth there. It didn't have that intimate feeling of a home, but rather the opulence of a museum or some important landmark. Hermione couldn't imagine raising a family in such an environment despite the fact that Draco was evidence that it could be done.

"I'll make a deal with you," Draco began. "We find our own place, but it has five bedrooms _minimum_."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, five is excessive."

"The Manor has twenty. Still think five is too much?"

Hermione was going to argue but the appearance of one the Manor's house elves had distracted her. The tiny creature bowed beside the bed before addressing them.

"Pardon the intrusion," he squeaked, "but a letter is come for Miss Granger."

"For me?"

"Thank you, Twizzle," Draco said as he reached for the letter. The house elf bowed once more after handing the letter over and disapparated, and Draco passed it on to Hermione.

"It's from Harry. I'd recognize that awful handwriting anywhere," she laughed. Her mirth died quickly, however, once the letter was opened and she read the first line. By the end of it, she was scrambling out of the bed and hastily gathering her clothes that were scattered over Draco's bedroom.

"I have to go. Ron's hurt."

"Hurt, you say?" His voice sounded suspiciously pleased at that, but Hermione was too preoccupied with her thoughts to notice. "What happened to him?"

"He was found beaten and robbed in Knockturn Alley, and now he's at St. Mungo's," she answered grimly. "Damn it, Ron, what were you even doing there? You would never —What are you doing?"

Hermione had finished dressing and turned to find Draco slipping a fresh shirt over his head.

"I'm going with you, of course."

"Draco," she smiled broadly, "I know that I told you to play nice with my friends, but really, you don't have to come."

"I'm not going for him," Draco clarified. "I'm going for you. What kind of fiancé would I be if I let you go alone? My shoes, please?"

His gesture had brightened his frazzled witch. While he was thrilled to see her that way, it was secondary to his true intentions on tagging along for the hospital trip. Draco was confident in his ability to cast a Memory Charm, but that didn't mean he could pass up an opportunity to ensure that the redhead didn't say something that he shouldn't.

Draco had a house elf inform his parents of where he and Hermione were going before Flooing out to St. Mungo's. It was one of the few places connected to every household home for emergency purposes.

"It's so busy," Hermione remarked. She was in awe of the amount of people sitting in the waiting area —some calm, others not, and a few engaging in anxious behaviors such as nail biting or foot jingling.

"It's night," Draco answered. "Everything happens at night."

In fact, it was nearly midnight, and Draco was quite sure that St. Mungo's would only get busier. He followed Hermione to the reception desk and she inquired on where they could find Ron. Draco didn't miss the receptionist doing a double take at realizing that he was with her, but his stern gaze kept her focused on the task at hand.

"Mr. Weasley is in Room 326."

"Thank you," Hermione replied and led the way towards the lifts. It took no more than a few seconds to make it to the third floor, but it felt like an eternity to Draco as they shared the lift with a rather chatty older witch who was going on and on about her near-death experience with dragon-pox as a child. He all but ran out of the lift once the doors opened, but soon realized that he may have preferred the endless twaddle.

Particular to the point of paranoid, Draco took an account of everything, but somehow, he didn't think that he would be met with a horde of Weasleys once they had made it to Ron's room. Neither did Hermione for that matter, for she seemed to be just as surprised as he. He heard her gulp, and Draco held onto her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze to help ease her discomfort.

Hermione nodded to those who were there —Harry, of course, since he was the one to write her. Ginny, George, Molly, Arthur, Percy, and Bill were also there. Charlie was off in China wrangling dragons as per usual, but she was sure that he would Floo as soon as he was able. At least it was one less pair of eyes to be ogling Draco and their public display of affection.

"Lavender's inside with Ron, I assume?" Hermione asked Harry. He nodded to her, but it was obvious that his attention was wandering between her and the blond.

"Yeah, she's in Ron's room."

"Do you know what he was doing in Knockturn Alley?"

"No idea," Harry frowned. "He was supposed to be meeting Lavender in Diagon Alley, but he never showed up. At first she thought that he may have just forgotten and went home. He wasn't there and she waited, but he never came home. She was at my house when the message from St. Mungo's came through."

Hermione was anxiously biting her lip now, but she let it go when she heard someone call her name. It was Lavender. She was standing in the hall and beckoning her to come over. Draco followed at Hermione's heels, Harry too, while everyone else in the hall kept their gaze focused on the blond.

"Ron's asking for you," Lavender said. "He said it was important."

"Yes, alright. Do you mind staying out here?" Hermione turned to Draco.

Quite frankly, yes, he did. And yet despite how much he wanted to be in the room with Hermione, Draco gave a consenting nod and watched her go. Now he was alone with the lot and the stares were beginning to grate on his nerves. He chose to sit on the closest chair, his legs stretched out, his hands cupped over his stomach, and looked straight ahead while keeping everyone in his periphery. He was more concerned with what was going on in the room behind him.

It wasn't that Draco thought Hermione would leave him. She couldn't. They were bound together by his family curse, and they would be drawn together for the rest of their lives. A literal "til death do us part." That still didn't mean that she couldn't get mad at him. He would strive to keep her happy, but it was simply unfortunate that there were people who infuriated him so. He only hoped that whatever was being talked about beyond the walls at his back didn't result in an angry brunette at his throat.

"You look nervous, Malfoy," Bill addressed him. Draco casually glanced up at the man who was currently towering over him. At full height, however, Draco was sure to be eye-level with him.

"What for?" Draco replied with a careless shrug. "Just thinking of Hermione's well-being. She was a bit shaken up at hearing about what happened to your brother."

"And you care?" Ginny snorted from further down the hall.

"About who? Your brother or Hermione?"

"Both."

"Only one of them," Draco smiled. "Considering that beastly marriage law of the Ministry's, I'm sure that you can rightly guess who."

"That stupid law," Ginny grimaced. "No one should be forced to marry someone against their will. Especially someone like you."

"A successful Ministry employee wealthy enough to buy a person? I think Miss Granger has lucked out."

"And you've what? Been cursed or something?"

Draco couldn't help his laugh. An interesting choice of words, but he merely cupped his hands and settled further back into his seat. "Or something."

He was sure that another round of insipid questioning was bound ensue —probably along the lines of why he was there when there was no reason to be. He would never know because the door to Ron's room suddenly opened and Hermione came rushing out. She was red in the face, hands balled into fists and held tightly at her sides. She didn't acknowledge her friends who asked what was wrong and paused only briefly by Draco's side to tell him that it was time to go. Draco obeyed and got out of his seat, not bothering to give attention to anyone and followed after her.

They ended up back at Malfoy Manor, and while Draco was sure that her anger wasn't directed at him, it still didn't make him feel any better that she wasn't happy. It unnerved him how she had yet to say anything and merely turned left or right back to his bedroom at his direction.

"Hermione, love, please say something."

He had just closed the door to his bedroom and turned around to find his fiancée standing in the middle of the room, her hands rubbing her shoulders, and taking deep breaths. He walked around her to see her face, and it was worse. No, she wasn't crying, but her eyes weren't exactly dry.

"Hermione, what happened?"

Hermione took yet another deep breath and simply shook her head. "I just wish I could tell them. Ron, Harry, the others… I didn't choose you. The Ministry did. I didn't choose to love you either. The curse makes me. The curse is the only reason why your parents tolerate me, and why I tolerate them. I constantly wonder just how evil they are naturally and what part of it is the curse that drives them, but it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if I want to hate them for everything that they've done in their lives, for what they believe, and their dislike of me and my kind of witch, because aside from you, they're the only ones who can understand. _Everything_ that I think, that I feel, _who I am_ is shaped by this force that neither of us can control. To my friends I've lost my mind, and the irony is that I'm actually sane —for now."

Draco's frown was deeper than he could have imagined, but how could it not when he could not only see the suffering on his fiancée's face, but also feel it? It felt like a drill stabbing at his chest, and it got worse the longer she stayed upset. He eventually sighed and took hold of her hands, his fingers brushing across the engagement ring he had retrieved from the Malfoy vault.

"What did Weasley say to you?"

"That he was in Diagon Alley when he saw you and your father," she told him. All at once Draco felt his heart race, but it slowed considerably when she added, "He followed you into Knockturn Alley, but he doesn't remember what happened after that. Only that he woke up in St. Mungo's. Naturally, he thinks that you and your father hurt him," Hermione scoffed. "While I fully believe that your father would do such a thing, I know that you wouldn't. Ron and I argued about it and that's when I stormed out."

"'Stormed out' is a bit of an understatement," he poorly joked, "but you're right. I would never do anything that I know would hurt you —curse or not, by the way."

"Does Hogwarts count?" she asked with a raised brow.

"As an adult then," he amended. "I'm sorry that everything is such a mess."

"Well, not everything," Hermione countered. Her frown disappeared and instead of Draco holding her hands it was her holing his instead. "Manufactured love or not, I have you. I just wish I wasn't on the verge of losing my friends in the process."

"You're not going to lose your friends. They're not fickle. Get mad at you, yes, but not they're not going to turn their backs on you. Not like say…a pureblood confused as to why I'm so content on marrying someone of your blood status."

Hermione blinked rapidly and choked on her words before finally getting them out. "Has someone said that to you?"

"Not yet, but someone will," Draco nodded. "You're not the only one who's going to face repercussions from this."

"Oh, fantastic," Hermione grimly laughed. "Let me guess, they may try to kill me?"

"They might. However, we could always kill them if they try," Draco shrugged while Hermione gave him an incredulous look.

"I can't tell if you're joking."

"Neither can I," Draco admitted. It should have bothered him, but nothing troubled him quite the same anymore. With a deep breath, he encouraged Hermione that they should go to bed. It had been a long enough night as it was.

* * *

Draco woke up early on Sunday morning and left Hermione asleep in his bed. She had been right last night. Without the proper explanation of his family's curse, no one on her side would understand their actions. They probably thought that he had her under some sort of spell or that he had an ulterior motive. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't give a rat's arse what her lot thought of him, but where questions were, curiosity lay, and curiosity led to searching for answers. He didn't need anyone snooping around him and his family, and so Draco needed to nip this situation as fast as possible.

That was why he was in Hogsmeade before 8 a.m. He was sitting on a bench on a hill that overlooked part of the town. He liked to sit there because the views afforded him the opportunity to people watch in peace. He was able to relish in that peace for several minutes before someone sat on the bench within an arm's reach of him. A bit of parchment fluttered down between them as his bench companion spoke.

"You have one hell of a way to get someone's attention," Harry said as he cupped his hands over his lap. Draco glanced down at the parchment and read the words he had written in the middle of the night.

 _Hogsmeade. Bench on the hill._

 _We need to talk about Hermione._

 _Draco xx_

Draco shrugged and crossed his ankle over his knee. "Would you have come to meet me if I didn't make it sound so urgent?"

"Probably not."

"Then that's why."

"Well, I'm here then," Harry turned to him. "What's wrong with Hermione? I spoke to Ron after she took off and he told me that they had a fight. About you," he added seriously. "He thinks that you and your father attacked him. Did you?"

"Do you really think that I'd admit such a thing?" Draco snorted. "That's quite presumptuous of you."

"You still haven't answered me."

"Yes, Potter. My father and I hate Weasley so much that we lured him into a filthy alleyway in Knockturn Alley, tortured him endlessly, and robbed him blind." Draco paused for dramatic effect, noticing how small Harry's eyes had gotten, and he wondered if the bespectacled man was about to arrest him right then and there. Typical. Draco eventually sighed before shaking his head. "Give us some credit. The fact that he was robbed should tell you that it wasn't us. As if we'd rob a peasant," he huffed. "That doesn't make an ounce of sense."

Harry's nostrils flared and a sneer appeared that could have rivaled Draco's. "That was uncalled for, Malfoy."

"Just giving you a little perspective," Draco casually replied with a grin. "Besides, I asked you here to talk about Hermione, not Weasley." Here his grin began to fade and he sighed. "She's worried that you and the rest of your people are going to abandon her."

"What?" Harry's mouth dropped. "We would never do that!"

"That's what I told her. Granted, hard to believe when you're all giving us death glares."

"You showed up at the hospital with her," Harry pointed out. "What exactly did you both expect? You two have never been on solid terms before, and now you're all fine just because you're slated to get married? Hermione was up in arms over this ordeal and now she's okay with it? Working with your mother on a wedding —hell, planning a wedding at all? She's not herself, and the only factor that's different in her life is you."

"Hmm," Draco mused. They had certainly done a lot of thinking in these past few days. He imagined a worried Potter-Weasel pair who carried their worries to the rest of the family, who in turn whispered among themselves yet never addressing what caused the lines in their foreheads. "For your information, neither one of us likes this. We're…trapped by something we can't control," he added carefully, looking up at Harry and holding eye contact. There was no mirth on the blond's face, no hint of a joke, and for the first time since sitting down, Draco could tell that the man next to him was truly listening. He, himself, felt a weight lift from his shoulders at the cryptic version of truth he was spinning.

"We can't fight it," Draco continued, "even though we want to. If there was a way out of it, trust me, we would take it. However, seeing as there's not, we're going along with it. Don't penalize her for making do with what life has thrown at her. It's bad enough that she has to marry me."

Silence trickled in between them, and Draco hated it. He broke eye contact and settled his gaze onto his hands, waiting for what Harry was going to say next. It felt life a lifetime had passed before words were finally spoken, and it was more than Draco could have asked for.

"Just promise me that she's safe with you."

"She is."

"Fine," Harry nodded. "Are we done then?"

"Yes." Draco stood, as well as Harry, and they stood awkwardly for a moment as though trying to determine whether to shake hands. They didn't, and Harry was the first to walk off. Draco watched his form disappear as he went down the hill and into the small mass of people that were starting their shopping in Hogsmeade for the day.

 _Just promise me that she's safe with you._

Those words rattled around Draco's head and he couldn't get it out. Potter had no idea just how untrue what he said had been. Like Draco had told his father, Hermione was very much capable of handling herself. Now that the curse was in play, it wasn't _her_ that needed protection, it was everyone else. Even as Draco began to make his way to the apparation spot to head home, he could see the opportunities that surrounded him. The random witch or wizard whom Draco could imagine falling prey to his wand with a quick pull into an alley and slice across the throat. He could imagine the begging and the pleading and it made his heart quicken with excitement much like it did with Weasley yesterday.

Draco heard himself laugh as he stood between two buildings and prepared to disapparate, but he stalled his movements when he realized that he hadn't made a sound. Confused, he stared up ahead, his eyes widening when he realized that there was someone leaning against the side of one of the buildings. Granted, it was less that there was someone there at all, but rather who.

As though a mirror had been set down in front of him, Draco saw himself. His image was as clear as day, and although he was smiling, it was too wide and too forced to be natural —like a clown whose mouth lines were overdrawn. It made Draco's skin crawl, and he shook beneath his cloak.

"There's nothing like taking a life, is there?" his look-alike said, this time showing teeth as he grinned. Draco gulped.

"I wouldn't know," he replied. "I haven't killed anyone."

"Not yet."

Draco's doppelganger laughed and vanished. Draco stood rooted to the spot, shaken to the core and unable to move, until a witch tapped him on the shoulder and asked if he was alright. He nearly screamed aloud at her touch, but instead he muttered a quick, "I'm fine," before finally disapparating to Malfoy Manor where he hoped his insanity didn't follow.

* * *

 **Author's note:** When I think of that smile of Draco's doppelganger, I imagine that viral thing with the woman and that creepy as crap grin and those huge eyes... Straight shivers.

Merry Christmas to those celebrating, Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year! :)

-WP


	8. Invitations

Lucius sat across from his son and analyzed him with worried eyes. He had been having breakfast with his wife when one of their house elves appeared at the side of the table stating that Draco was in desperate need of him. This had puzzled the older Malfoy greatly for in all of Draco's life he had never had a "desperate" need of him, and so Lucius had excused himself and found his son in one of the many parlor rooms that the Manor had to offer. To say that he was shocked at the scene before him it would be a gross understatement.

Although a man, all Lucius could see was a terrified boy, and right then and there he was sure that it was the house elf who had determined that Draco had needed him. As it stood, Draco had been (and still was) incapable of speaking. Neither the wave of his hand nor the call of his name had done anything to snap his son out of his daze. The only thing that Lucius could think to do was to wait until he snapped out of it on its own.

And so, he waited. A clock ticked on in the distance, and every few moments Lucius would look up at it to see how much time had passed. Five minutes. Twenty minutes. An hour. Narcissa came into the room at half-past and sat beside her husband.

"It must have been truly horrific," Narcissa frowned as she observed her baby boy. "Or it's still ongoing."

"Perhaps the latter," Lucius bitterly replied. "He appears to be lost within himself. Have you contacted our Healers?"

"I have."

"And Miss Granger?"

"Under a Sleeping Spell."

"Very good."

"…It's odd, don't you think?" Narcissa said after a bit of silence. "I didn't expect for the insanity to come on so soon or so strongly."

"You and I were different," Lucius reminded. "We courted. We had time to develop feelings for one another. Draco and Miss Granger were forced together and they have absolutely nothing with which to cushion themselves. Until genuine feelings form from the ingenuine, it will, unfortunately, continue to be like this."

"No, I won't let it," Narcissa fumed. "Look at him, Lucius! His first encounter with whatever hallucination he's seen —whatever he's seeing or hearing now —and we can't even reach him! Something must be done, and it _will_ be done."

"I sense a plot, dear," Lucius replied with a happy hum. He turned his body so that he could face his wife head-on and urged her. "What did you have in mind? Another vagabond?"

"No, no, I don't want to endanger him like that. Being caught unawares is never good."

"Clearly that wasn't your mindset where the Granger girl was concerned."

"She's not our son," Narcissa airily answered. "It didn't matter if she was killed in the process."

"Touché," Lucius nodded. "What do you propose for Draco then?"

"Something in which he must be in control of the situation. He has to want to kill of his own accord."

"That Weasley boy would have been a perfect candidate," Lucius sighed. "You should have seen Draco, Cissa. He was so ready to kill and didn't have a single care in the world. None except how his future wife would feel if the Weasley was dead. If there was only a way to replicate such a feeling, then Draco would have no trouble at all."

"Is there anyone else that Draco dislikes and who would be easy to miss?"

"No one that I can think of," Lucius brooded. "At this rate, Miss Granger would have to be attacked for Draco to take action. Whether she lives or dies has become his top priority."

"Then it's settled," Narcissa smiled. "She will be attacked yet again, but this time Draco will be the one to kill the attacker. Orchestrated correctly, it would be seen as Draco saving her life, thus limiting Ministry involvement."

"It would have to be done correctly and _carefully_ ," Lucius warned. "Draco is starting to lose his mind, and for all we know Miss Granger will be following in his footsteps shortly. We both know all too well what someone at the behest of a broken mind is capable of. Things could get messy."

"It's risky, yes, but consider the alternative." Narcissa gestured to their son who was still in his catatonic state. Lucius didn't want to look at him and refrained. Instead, he agreed.

"Who will be the intended attacker?"

"Someone from our side will do. Merlin knows they all have the proper motive."

Lucius scoffed and settled further on their shared couch. "Too many options."

"Oh, there's no such thing as too many options," she laughed. "The more the better, and they will all have their chance."

Before Lucius could ask how that would be accomplished, the same house elf that had fetched him for Draco had apparated into the room.

"The Healers are here, Master and Mistress Malfoy."

"Thank you, Hazel," Lucius addressed her. "Send them in."

* * *

Draco felt groggy. It was like he had been locked in a room without sunlight for days, and while he knew that wasn't true, he couldn't help just how right it was. He stretched, one arm reaching over his head, but the other was stuck. He looked over to his left and found Hermione cuddled up next to him and killing the circulation in his arm. He smiled at her and attempted to wriggle his arm free. Instead of the desired effect, however, Hermione snuggled closer to him.

"Excuse me," he whispered to her, "but I can't feel my arm."

"Let it fall off," she murmured. In the past few days that Draco had woken up next to this woman, he had determined that Miss Hermione Granger was _not_ a morning person. Well, terrible to wake up at any rate. It was well past two p.m., and it was quite rare for him to sleep so late.

There was only one way to properly free his arm, Draco surmised, and so he tilted his body a tad, wrapped his right arm around Hermione, and used all the strength he had to pull her on top of him. Her squeal let him know that he had succeeded in waking her up, and now he had the ability to flex his left arm.

"Thanks for that," Hermione huffed as she rubbed at her eyes.

"You're welcome. It's time for us to get up anyway. We slept in a bit."

Hermione looked at the ornate clock that hung on the wall to the right of his bed. It took a moment for her to focus her attention, but when she realized where the clock's hands lay, she sat up.

"A bit? Draco, it's two-thirty!"

"I guess we were tired," Draco shrugged. "Although, I'm not quite tired anymore," he added as his hands settled on her waist. By sitting up, Hermione had inadvertently straddled him and further erased the groggy feeling he had woken up with.

Hermione let the corners of her mouth curl up and her hands slide up and down Draco's chest. "I can tell," she replied coyly. She leaned forward to kiss him while his hands moved her under shirt, his fingers grasping the hems in order to remove it. It was halfway up when the sound of apparation filled the room and distracted them from their pending activity.

"Not now, Twizzle," Draco berated; however, the house elf didn't leave.

"Twizzle is sorry, Master Malfoy, but you have a guest waiting for you."

"A guest? Who?"

"Mr. Theodore Nott, Master Malfoy."

Draco groaned while Hermione turned to the house elf and thanked him. Once he was gone, she rolled off of Draco and out of bed (much to his displeasure).

"Go tend to your guest," Hermione told him. "I'm going to head home."

"Home?" Draco frowned. "Why?"

"Well, as Twizzle said, you have a guest. While I don't know Nott very well, I can be sure that he's not accustomed to me being around you, so I'll take my leave. Besides, I left Harry and the others rather abruptly last night. I have to do some damage control."

The words "damage control" rang a distant bell for Draco, but he couldn't tell why. Instead of focusing on it, he watched Hermione get dressed and he bid her a farewell as she used the fireplace in his bedroom to go. He sighed, damning Theo with all his might, and swung his feet down to the floor. Despite the tiredness he had woken up to having gone, it was replaced with pressure in his head. He felt like it had been tampered with, but it couldn't have been a Memory Charm. For one thing, it was impossible for a Memory Charm to be cast effectively on an Occlumens —any charm that was meant to affect the mind for that matter. That wasn't to say that someone couldn't try and manage some sort of success, albeit temporary. The effects of such an attempt often led the victim to feel tired, head pressure, headaches, and sometimes lightheadedness or dizziness. Draco could only assume that whatever spell or charm that had been attempted had worked to some degree. He just needed to find out who had done it, how, and why.

"A man could die of old age waiting for you."

Draco turned his body around to find Theo walking into his bedroom. The blond huffed and finally got up from bed. His head felt light as he did so, but he shook it off and hoped that Theo didn't notice.

"Yes, well, you came unannounced," Draco said as he crossed his arms. "The fault then lies with you."

"Fair enough," Theo smiled. "You look good by the way," he continued. "You've got this… I don't know. A natural _glow_ , let's say."

Draco raised a brow at his friend and watched him walk around his bedroom. While the man wasn't necessarily a brooding pessimist, he wasn't normally this perky either. "A glow?"

Theo stopped in front of an armchair in the corner of the room and sat down, one knee atop the other and his hands cupped on his lap. "Yeah, a glow. And judging from the hour, the bedhead, an unmade bed, and," here he gave a low chuckle as he gestured with a lazy hand to Draco's neck, "some discoloration from the variously placed love bites, I'd say that it would have something to do with your betrothed. The Ministry certainly has an interesting sense of humor. Thank Merlin I'm already married or else I might have ended up with Lovegood."

Draco worked hard to control the muscles in his mouth so that he didn't look like a gaping fish. He did, however, furrow his brows and let his arms fall to his side. His tongue swiped the back of his teeth as he contemplated every word that Theo had said and then stuffed his hands in the pockets of his pajama bottoms as he addressed him.

"Theo, my dear friend," Draco said slowly and smiling, "my head feels like shit, I'm getting a headache, and you're not making either of those two things better. _What_ exactly are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about your muggleborn fiancée, of course," Theo admitted with a laugh. "Although, I'm sure that you knew that, but you're probably wondering just how _I_ knew that when you didn't tell me —I'm offended, by the way," he added in a tut. Theo then went into the inside of his jacket pocket and pulled out a letter. He held it out for Draco to take, and when the blond took and unfolded the letter, he finally let his jaw drop.

 _You are cordially invited to Malfoy Manor_

 _Saturday, October 21_ _st_ _, 2006_

 _to commemorate the engagement of_

 _Draco Malfoy & Hermione Granger_

 _Please respond to this invitation by Thursday, October 19_ _th_ _, 2006_

 _with notice of your acceptance._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Lucius & Narcissa Malfoy_

"What in the hell do my parents think they're doing?" Draco swore as he read the letter for the second time. He looked up at Theo who simply shrugged.

"I asked myself that same question," he answered. "Granger is as good as dead come Saturday. Draco, you don't think…" Theo paused, obviously not wanting to continue, but he pressed on both because it needed to be said and because of the impatience that the blond was sporting. "You don't think that your parents planned this for that purpose, do you? You know…with the hopes that one of our rather unscrupulous acquaintances would just take her out? Not to say that your parents are those kinds of people but—"

"That's exactly what you're saying, Theo," Draco interrupted with an uncontrolled sneer. Theo recoiled in his seat, but Draco let the sneer drop just a moment later because, even if he didn't want to admit it, it was _exactly_ the type of thing that his parents would do. There was only one flaw in that plan. "They wouldn't do that. If anything ever happened to her I…"

He would die. That was the end of it. His family curse had bound him and Hermione together, and it would only grow stronger as time went on. If she was to be killed, Draco could imagine just how his heart would break. Would he even be able to live without her? He had already felt a bit of hurt when she had told him she was going home. He shuddered to think if she never returned to him.

"Draco, mate, can you hear me?"

Draco blinked. He hadn't realized that he had spaced out or that Theo had gotten up and was standing directly in front of him.

"Sorry," Draco mumbled. "Saturday, will you come?"

"Of course," Theo nodded. "It would be foolish to miss a Malfoy affair, even one as dangerous as this."

"Good. You'll help me to keep a watch on my future bride. Blood status aside, Ministry ruling or not, Hermione will be a Malfoy no matter what. Anyone who threatens that will have to go through me."

"Sounds like Granger's in good hands then," Theo grinned. He gave Draco another once-over, particularly now that he could see the evidence of the blond's night up close, and hummed amusedly. "See you Saturday."

Draco absolutely loathed how much enjoyment Theo was getting from this situation, but that was the least of his worries. His hand was still curled around the invitation and it made his blood boil simply thinking about it. Without a second thought, he called for a house elf and demanded to know where his parents were. Once he found out, he quickly dressed and stormed his way out of his bedroom.

" _What_ is the meaning of this?!" Draco shouted as he walked in on his parents having an early dinner. Lucius and Narcissa looked up at their son, none too surprised at his outburst although he rarely ever raised his voice to them. They took note of the piece of parchment in his hand and recognized the delicate script that was written on it.

"Where did you get that, dear?" Narcissa asked as he stabbed a piece of lamb with her fork.

"It's Theo's invitation to my engagement party," he replied with a touch of anger as he approached the dining table. It was larger than the one where they usually ate breakfast and held seats suitable for eight people. Draco dropped the letter onto the table and it fluttered in between a bowl of mashed potatoes and a gravy boat. "He's RSVPed yes, by the way."

"Lovely," his mother beamed. "I'll have Izzy update the guestlist."

"Lovely?" Draco repeated. "This isn't 'lovely;' it's an utter catastrophe. How could the two of you plan an engagement party for Hermione and me?"

"Why not?" Lucius asked. "It's customary when one is getting married."

"Under normal circumstances, yes. However, I'm marrying the woman who most, if not all, of the guests despise. She'll be a walking target."

"While that is unfortunate, you will simply have to keep an eye on her," Lucius casually replied. It made Draco's eye twitch and his mouth twist into a horrible snarl.

"Why thank you, Father. I see how much this worries you."

"Come now, Draco, you're a fine dueler," Lucius continued. "Stay at the witch's hip, and everything will be fine."

"You can't be serious," Draco fumed. "It's the bloody vagabond all over again, except this time not done on purpose!"

He missed the casual glance his parents shared before Narcissa dabbed at her lips with a napkin and turned to her son.

"Draco, I know that you're not fond of the idea, but aside from custom this was necessary."

"Necessary?" Draco scoffed. "Please, Mother, tell me how letting my fiancée walk into a death trap is necessary?"

"Better a death trap now than at your wedding." _That_ certainly caught Draco's attention, and Narcissa carried on once the tension in his face and body lessened. "Whether this Saturday or your wedding day, Miss Granger will have to face these people. She'll have to face them for the rest of her life. We already know what a struggle this will be on our end. They're not going to care that this was inflicted upon us by the Ministry, and, in fact, they will probably see fit to 'remedy the situation' for us.

'For that reason, we need not to shy away from this, Draco. We need to tackle this head on and show our peers that yes, this is Hermione Granger, war heroine, responsible for the states of many of your lives, _and a future Malfoy._ It doesn't matter that she's a muggleborn. Being a Malfoy comes first, and we will stand by her side."

Draco stared wordlessly at the table. His anger at his parents had waned during his mother's speech, and he didn't want to look at her. He didn't want to raise his head up because, despite it all, despite how much he _hated_ this, he couldn't help but agree. An offensive attack was always best, and gathering all of their potential enemies in one place and knocking them all down in one shot was certainly a way to do it. Ambitious and wildly dangerous, yes, but a good method nonetheless.

Draco groaned and sighed before reaching across the table, picking up Theo's invitation, and rolling it up. "Next time that you want to plan and execute such an audacious move that includes two lives outside of your own, perhaps you can run it by me first? It would save me a headache."

"Of course, son," Lucius replied and happily got back to his dinner.

* * *

 **Author's note:** I haven't had this much fun writing Lucius and Narcissa in a very long time lol.

Happy New Year Everyone!

-WP


	9. Persuasion

Hermione stood on the second floor of her house, truly wondering if she could live somewhere with five bedrooms. Her own had two and it was spacious enough as it was, but she supposed she would cross that bridge when the time came for it. As it currently stood, she had another bridge to cross and she wasn't looking forward to it.

Hermione headed downstairs to her Floo, took a handful of Floo Powder and said clearly, "Harry Potter Residence." She was whisked away quickly and landed in the middle of Harry's living room. She was desperately hoping not to come across Ginny first (or at all), and her prayers were answered when she locked eyes with Harry who had apparently just come from upstairs.

Neither of them said anything for countless seconds until Harry greeted her with a meek, "Hello."

"Hi," Hermione replied before suddenly noticing that he was wearing a light jacket. "You're heading out?"

"Oh," Harry looked down at himself once before nodding. "Yes. Hospital. Ginny's already there with Lavender."

"Ah, right, of course. H-how is Ron?"

"Good. He should be able to come home today, I think."

"That's great," Hermione honestly replied. "I'm happy for that. Well… If you're about to go, then I should probably—"

"No, wait," Harry said quickly. His strides had carried him in record speed from the staircase to living room so that he was face-to-face with her. "You came for a reason; what is it?"

"It's fine, Harry, really. It can wait."

"No, what is it?"

"It's nothing, I just… I wanted to apologize for last night."

Harry's face fell once Hermione said that, and he immediately took her hand and led her over to the couch. "You have nothing to apologize for. We should be the ones saying sorry to you. None of us were exactly welcoming."

"I shouldn't have expected you to be," Hermione frowned. "None of you have a good history with Draco, and truthfully I was going to go alone, but he insisted on coming. He wanted to be there for me —something that I know that you nor anyone else will understand. Draco and I don't have the best history either, and for him to be so…supportive? It's strange, but we're just—"

"—making the best of your situation," Harry finished. Hermione blinked at him surprise, but he only shrugged. "That's pretty much what Malfoy told me when we spoke this morning."

"You saw each other today?" Hermione was genuinely surprised, even when Harry reconfirmed his words.

"Yeah, he wrote me and asked to meet him in Hogsmeade to talk about you. He basically told us to be better friends. We're not going to abandon you, Hermione. We're just concerned for you."

"You don't have to worry about me, I promise," she reassured him. "Besides, I've faced the forces of evil since I was eleven thanks to a certain green-eyed boy-turned-man," she teased as she bumped into his shoulder. "What's different between then and now?"

"The forces of evil are your future husband and in-laws," Harry seriously replied. Hermione's face faltered, but not because of what he said. It was because she, too, was now one of those forces, and there was nothing that she could do about it.

* * *

Hermione hadn't told Draco what time she would be back home, if she would be staying at her house, or if she would be going back to the Manor. Draco decided not to wait around to find out the answer and instead went to her house to wait for her. When he stepped out of the Floo on her end, his mouth was opened and ready to bellow when he was met with hers instead.

"I'm up here!"

Draco grinned to himself and took to the stairs two at a time. He checked two rooms before finding her in her own and on her bed. A quill was in hand and a piece of parchment pressed against a book. Hermione looked up at him before gesturing to what she was writing.

"I guess I can save the ink," she said shyly. "I was asking you to come over."

"What, sick of the Manor already?" Draco teased. Hermione didn't answer, but merely set aside her writing and beckoned him to sit next to her. He didn't need to be told twice and sat down with a gentle bounce on her mattress. "How did it go with Potter?"

"It went well. I don't think he'll go skipping down the street or anything, but it's okay for now. There's still the rest of the Weasleys to contend with, but one step at a time. How was Nott's visit?"

"It was…enlightening," Draco said after a moment of deep thought. Hermione tilted her head at that, but waited for him to continue of his own accord. "He brought something very interesting to my attention that involves the both of us."

"The both of us? What exactly was that?"

"It was this."

Draco had brought Theo's invitation along and took it out of his pants' pocket. He unfolded it before giving it to Hermione and he watched her with bated breath as her eyes went wide. He knew she was reading it once her eyes began to scan the parchment and her lips mirrored the words on the page.

"My parents took it upon themselves to do this. I didn't know about it, I swear," he made sure to say. "So, we'll go. You'll need something appropriate to wear and, not to be rude in any way, but I doubt that you have any evening attire suitable for an affair such as this."

Draco had been talking, but Hermione was hardly listening. She must have read and reread the invitation at least three times, but she still couldn't properly wrap her head around it. It wasn't until the fourth read that she had registered he words "So, we'll go," which immediately flipped a switch in the brunette.

"No."

Draco's brows creased even though he had heard hear correctly. "No?"

"I'm not going," Hermione said as she folded the invitation back and gave it to Draco. "I refuse to go."

"Hermione, you _have_ to go."

"I certainly do not!" Hermione countered as she rose to her feet and faced him as he continued to sit. "Draco, being around your parents is one thing, but this? A room full of former and suspected Death Eaters? People that I've testified against? People who hate me? It's nothing but a trap for me, and I'm not going to be there."

"Make no mistake that I've thought about the dangers of this," he told her, "and I was furious with my parents when I found out that they arranged this without informing us. Regardless, it's already been set. Invitations have gone out—"

"To hell with invitations!" Hermione shouted. "If that's your only reasoning for me to go, it's a weak one and it won't work. I don't know about you, but _I_ value my life more than ruining a party filled with guests who want to skin me alive."

"Are you kidding?" Draco frowned disbelief. "I care about your life more than my own. You know that."

Yes, Hermione did know that. It was one of the few things that she was absolutely sure of, and she knew that it hurt Draco deeply for her to say it. With a sigh, Hermione sat back down and wrapped her arms around his neck. It was a slow move at first, but soon his arms were around her waist and holding her close.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I know that you wouldn't let anything bad happen to me. I just don't think that this is a good idea."

"Neither do I," Draco admitted. He gently pushed himself away from her so that he could look her in the face. "Unfortunately, my parents made a fairly decent point when I confronted them about it."

"I doubt it," Hermione snorted, "but what was it?"

"That you're going to have to meet and interact with these people eventually. As much as I don't like it, this is the world that I live in, and now you do too. Better to fight off the devils now than wait for the wedding. We have to make a statement."

"A statement?" she repeated with a brow raised. "Sounds like a load of pureblood tripe to me."

"It is," Draco agreed. "It's utter bollocks, but something that we _must_ adhere to. For you not to show up on Saturday would mean that you're afraid. They'll use that to their advantage and things would only get worse from there. You have to go."

Hermione moved her gaze away from Draco and onto the floor —anything to avoid being lost in his eyes that were doing nothing less than pleading. Marrying Draco wasn't ideal, no, and being around his parents wasn't exactly a happy place either, but this party… She knew that he was right. These people were her people now too, no matter how much she was planning on avoiding every single one of them in the future. It was a now or later type of deal, and apparently it was going to be now.

"You owe me, Mr. Malfoy."

"Anything that you want."

"Anything?" Hermione smiled. "In that case, _four_ bedrooms for our future house. Anything more than that and I'll simply have to off myself."

Draco rolled his eyes and grunted miserably, but nodded just the same. "Fine, fine, I suppose I walked into that one. Have you eaten anything for today?"

"A little something at Harry's, but nothing else."

"We'll go out for dinner then. Grab your cloak."

"Alright." Hermione rose from her bed and headed into her closet. Draco stretched while he waited and felt tired from the, surprisingly, exhausting day. Nevertheless, they still had to eat. Tonight promised to be an early one no matter how much he wanted to rip her clothes off.

"By the way, why didn't you tell me that you saw Harry this morning?"

Draco snapped his eyes to Hermione with a quickness that he didn't think he still had. "What?"

"Harry. He told me that you both met in Hogsmeade to talk about me. I guess you didn't want me to know, but thank you. My friends mean the world to me, and the fact that you took time out to make sure that they didn't hate me is just… That was more than just the curse fueling you, and I appreciate it."

Hermione kissed him and pulled away with the happiest expression on her face. While Draco wasn't a fool to turn down the praise, he hadn't the foggiest idea what she was talking about. The last he had seen of Potter was last night at St. Mungo's. Or least…that's what he remembered. As Hermione slipped on her shoes, his hand slowly gravitated to his head. The pressure. The headache. The groggy feeling when he had woken up.

 _Potter must have done something to me,_ Draco concluded, but what? Whatever had been done was a complete invasion of privacy, not to mention blatant tampering. Impressive, for the goody-goody that was Potter, but it wouldn't be without repercussions. Draco would see to it.

* * *

Hermione's week had started off fairly well despite the fact that she would be entertaining Death Eaters this weekend. It was Wednesday, and although she had had the two days before it to come to terms with this ridiculousness, it was still none-the-better. Today, though, would at least be an interesting highlight. As Draco had told her Sunday night, she would need a dress for the party. Hermione wasn't the least bit offended in his assuming that she didn't have any evening wear that would be appropriate because he was right. Fancy soirées weren't exactly in her vocabulary nor was mingling with the "social elite." Granted, she didn't particularly care about the mingling aspect nor was she going to force herself to. Enough had changed about her already and falling into the category of a prim, pureblood socialite wasn't going to be one of them. She was Hermione Granger: muggleborn, the occasional murderous intent notwithstanding.

Draco had a meeting that would run late, but he gave her the name of a store in the wizarding section of Alderley Edge and told her to give them his name as he had booked the entire showroom for the evening. He had promised to meet her there once he was finished, but Hermione told him not to. Aside from being a grown woman capable of picking out something decent to wear, she didn't want to run the risk of him seeing her with it on prior to Saturday. He relented and instead decided to meet her at her house.

The store was called _Cara's_ , and even from a distance Hermione could see that it was the very definition of posh. Everything was white: the walls, the furniture, the check-in counter, _the carpet._ There had to be an Anti-Staining Charm on the carpet for sure, and she imagined everything else that lay out in the open. As Hermione walked up two steps and opened the door, a bell tinged in the air, and the smell of vanilla wafers hit her nose and made her mouth water. There was the delicate scent of wine as well, and the sound of stringed instruments flew overhead.

"May I help you, Miss…?"

"Granger," Hermione answered a young witch no older than herself who appeared from behind a set of (white) heavy curtains that hanged behind the check-in counter. "Draco Malfoy sent me."

The woman gave Hermione a quick look-over, although the word "quick" was an understatement. The witch's eyes started at Hermione's head, which probably meant her hair was bushier today than other days despite being tied back with a clip. Her gaze then traveled down Hermione's shoulders, pass her torso, on to her legs and then on to her shoes. Hermione looked nothing like a troll to be getting such the eye treatment, but she supposed that compared to the women who frequented this place she might as well have been one.

Hermione cleared her throat to grab the woman's attention and then plastered the fakest smile that she could muster. "Is there a problem?"

"Oh, no, no, it's just," the witch returned Hermione's smile which looked twice as forced as her own. "Mr. Malfoy owled us earlier today. He said that his _fiancée_ would be coming to purchase a dress on the Malfoy account."

That certainly made Hermione drop the politeness. Already she could foresee what idiocies in addition to the danger that she would encounter come Saturday. The counter woman was still wearing her grin, although it was less cringe and now genuine. Perhaps with Hermione's silence she thought that she had the brunette cornered. Oh, how wrong she was.

Hermione's smile was back and she let her hand rest on her cheek —her _left_ hand —and saw how her ring glittered in the light. The judgmental wench noticed too, and her face all but faltered.

"I know," Hermione answered her. " _I'm_ his fiancée. So, shall we get on with things, or should I owl Draco and my future in-laws about the treatment I received as soon as I walked in through the door?"

"Oh! Not at all," the counter woman quickly replied. "We already have a few dressed pulled aside and waiting for you. My name is Margaret —follow me, please."

There were a million things that Hermione would rather do than to follow this woman anywhere, but she would be without a dress otherwise. With great restraint on her part, she tucked away whatever ill-advised verbal retort she wanted to spew and headed deeper into the store. They curtailed left and abandoned the main showroom that she could see from the street. This side of the store was apparently meant for privacy and held the selection of dresses that Margaret had mentioned as well as a single dressing room, a pedestal, and several mirrors to ensure proper viewing.

"Ladies," Margaret said to the two women who were waiting. "This," she gestured to Hermione with what appeared to be a strained, gracious expression, "is Miss Hermione Granger. She is Mr. Malfoy's fiancée."

"You are?" one of them choked. The woman next to her elbowed her in the ribs while Hermione's eyes narrowed and she glared hard enough to kill.

 _Too easy,_ a voice in Hermione's mind determined, and the brunette had to agree. Although, it would be rather nice to be able to simply squint and watch all the pain the arses in her life go _poof!_ Death Eaters? _Poof!_ Ministry officials and their stupid laws? _Poof!_ This snobby witch who clearly thought that she was better than anyone else? _Poof!_

" _Yes,_ I am," Hermione hotly replied. "Can we get on with this, please? My fiancé will be waiting for me once this is over, and I'm sure that he'll want to hear _all about it._ "

"Of course," the witch who had yet to speak piped up. She went over to one of the dresses that was hanging on a nearby rack and then to the dressing room where she held the door open. "You can try this one on first, and let us know if you'd like to try other colors. As you can see, most of these are various shades of red. Mr. Malfoy suggested it."

Hermione felt herself flush and hoped her skin wasn't as red as the dress she was about to change into. Instead, she simply went into the dressing room with the gown and began to disrobe. It was a spacious dressing room with a bench attached to the right wall and a lush carpet that she imagined was what the rest of the flooring in the store felt like. It was interesting, however, that with all the niceties, the owners didn't think to place Silencing Charms on the outside of the dressing room so that she couldn't hear what they were saying.

Hermione should have known that the talks of her wouldn't end simply because they knew that she was going to marry Draco. In fact, it only ensured it. Trickles of the conversation flowed in and out and she could feel her anger being fueled with each word they spoke.

 _"Do you think that it was the Ministry's decree?"_

 _"It had to be. A friend of my cousin's dated Draco a while back, and this woman is_ _ **nothing**_ _compared to what his tastes are."_

 _"Not to mention that she's a muggleborn." Was it Margaret who was speaking? "She's Hermione Granger. You know, the one who helped take down You-Know-Who? That's two shots against the witch with a family like the Malfoys. She's completely wrong for that family —and of course wrong for Draco."_

 _"Any one of us would be better." This one was the one who had gasped in surprise upon seeing her, Hermione was sure now, and she clicked her tongue with rage. "It's a shame that I'm married. The things I would do to that handsome blond. We're far better than some lucky mudblood."_

 _"Wouldn't you just love to kill her?"_

That last voice didn't belong to any of the three women. Whereas their voices sounded shallow, jealous, and catty, this one sounded dark, menacing, and…playful? Hermione turned in a slow circle in her dress, doing her best not to trip. The voice nearly toppled her, however, when it spoke again.

 _"Stupid, petty women,"_ the voice chuckled. _"Green with envy just because you have what they want."_

"Who are you?" Hermione demanded, but her voice wasn't nearly as strong as she wanted it to be. She felt herself flinch when the woman laughed and continued with her speech.

 _"Can you hear them? They're still talking out there. You can silence them though. Open the door and one, two, three, down they go."_

"I'm not killing them."

 _"But you want to."_

"No, I don't."

 _"Then why are you holding your wand?"_

Hermione looked down at her hand, her eyes widening when she saw that her wand was, indeed, in her palm with her fingers curled around it. How did it get there? When had she picked it up? She dropped it in horror and placed her hands over her ears as the voice in her head laughed. The voice's laugher was ghosting her ears, tickling them even, as it kept talking, jumping from ear to ear in a rapid succession.

 _"Choose your spell."_

 _"Torture them first."_

 _"Bind them all."_

 _"They deserve it."_

 _"You want it."_

 _"Kill them all."_

"Stop it, stop it, please, stop it," Hermione repeated under her breath. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and she found herself sinking to her knees as the voice kept urging her to kill.

She was vaguely aware of a knock on the dressing room door, but it sounded so far away. Had someone called her name? There was light trickling into the room some moments later, but it did nothing to stop the urgency of the voice. Someone was kneeling in front of her now —Margaret, the one who had met her at the counter. Maybe if Hermione killed her, the voice would stop? That's what it wanted, wasn't it? She could give it what it wanted.

Hermione's wand was within reach and her fingers had barely grabbed the handle when she heard the remaining witches gasp behind her.

"Mr. Malfoy! Oh, thank Merlin you're here! Your fiancé, she—!" her words were cut off abruptly and then there was a distinct sound of a body hitting the ground. There was a scream and then another thud. Margaret scrambled away from Hermione, but she, too, also fell to the side after a jet of red light hit her squarely in the chest.

"Hermione?" Draco said as he walked into the dressing room. Hermione immediately turned and grabbed tight fistfuls of his trousers.

"It won't go away," she cried. "The voice… A woman's voice… It's there and it won't stop. Please, make it stop."

Draco was panicked. Hermione was unravelling before his eyes and he didn't know what to do. Kill, was obviously an answer, and there were three witches here to choose from. Unfortunately, there was also too much of a trail that could lead back to him if he took option A. The next option —finding some innocent bystander that no one would miss —would be a better solution, but what would come of Hermione in the time that it took him to do it? What if he, too, lost his mind in the process? No, something needed to be done now, and Draco did the only thing that he could think of to put her out of her misery.

"Stupefy."

Hermione collapsed against him, and Draco felt himself collapse right along with her. He took a deep breath before gently laying Hermione on the ground, and stepping out of the dressing room.

"Twizzle."

The house elf appeared immediately, bowing and ready to serve. "Yes, Master M— Oh, dear!" he shrieked as he noticed the two witches on the ground. His attention was brought back once Draco cleared his throat, and Twizzle lowered his head to hide his shock. "How may Twizzle serve Master Malfoy?"

"Take Hermione to my bedroom," Draco ordered as he gestured to the dressing room, "and have my father meet me there in fifteen minutes. I'll stay here to…" he paused as he looked around him before sighing, "…clean up the mess."

"Yes, Master Malfoy."

* * *

Draco's meeting had finished early and that was why he had gone to Alderley Edge. He hadn't planned on walking into _Cara's_ for he had wanted to abide by Hermione's wishes and not see what she had chosen to wear. However, as was the norm these days, he knew when something was amiss with his witch. To soothe his worried mind, Draco had walked into _Cara's_ , and that's when he had heard Hermione's cries. He had wasted no time in stunning the three witches, and he had been suddenly thankful that he had thought to book the showroom so that no other patrons could come in. As part of the process to "clean up," Draco had cast charms on the windows to make it look like nothing was wrong from the outside. He modified the witches' memories so that they remembered that Hermione had come into the store, but not her insanity. He also planted a memory of her choosing the dress that she had been wearing. Once that was finished, he positioned them all in sitting positions and added simple spells to keep them in place. Satisfied, Draco picked up Hermione's discarded clothing, her handbag, and undid the charms on the windows, and disapparated.

Draco headed straight to his bedroom once he had arrived and laid Hermione's things on the chair in the corner of his room. From where he stood, she looked peaceful. Any expression at all aside from horror would be preferable, if he was being honest. How she had become that crazed _that_ soon was concerning, and, quite selfishly, he began to wonder just how soon he would fall prey to the same.

"You sent for me?"

Draco turned around to find his father in the doorway. The younger Malfoy nodded and encouraged his father to enter the bedroom where he could plainly see Hermione stretched out on the bed.

"Is something wrong with her?"

"She's going crazy," Draco answered grimly. "I passed by _Cara's_ and saw her right in the middle of it."

"What did you do with the witnesses?" Lucius immediately asked. Draco raised a hand to his father to stop his pending questions and reassured him.

"Taken care of, don't worry. Right now, we need to focus on her. I know what I have to do, but what if she wakes up still crazed? What if I go out there, try to find someone, and I start to lose it just the same?" Draco sighed and rubbed his hands over his face before groaning into it. "All of this is just a mess."

Yes, it was a mess. Lucius could agree with that all the way. Draco had been catatonic. His fiancée had completely deteriorated. Lucius hadn't doubted his wife's plan to force their son to kill, and now he was even more sure that it was the right thing to do. Anything to keep him from suffering.

"I'll owl our Healers," Lucius said after a passing moment. "They should be here within the hour and help her."

"Healers?" Draco scoffed. "You can't cure insanity; you can only subdue it."

"Precisely. Come," he urged his son and put a hand on Draco's shoulder, "let's head to the Owlery."

Draco didn't want to leave Hermione, but staying in the room with her like this wasn't making him feel any better either. He relented then and followed his father out of the bedroom.

"It will get better the longer you two are together," Lucius said. "You needn't worry."

* * *

 **Author's note:** I don't know what's worse, hearing voices or seeing things. Yikes. Thanks for reading all! I'll probably slow up on updating after this (classes have returned!). It was glad to knock a lot of this out while I was inspired :D

-WP


	10. Entrapment

The Malfoy family Healers didn't get owled in often, but they were always prompt whenever called. They were a male-female pair, perhaps lovers at a time in their history, and worked together. They were also old as hell. To be frank, Draco was always surprised to still see them working in the field as he had expected one of them to keel over at any moment. Regardless, he stood at a distance from his bed, his father also in the room, as he watched the Healers do their job.

Despite their age, their hands were steady and fluid. They worked in tandem, one Healer on either side of the bed, their wands trained on Hermione's head. They never once said a spell out loud which Draco considered highly impressive. And while he didn't recognize much of the wand movements that they performed, they still had base elements reminiscent of a Memory Charm. Draco felt his mouth twitch the longer he stared at them, and he took a moment to glance at this father who kept his focus straight ahead.

Draco had had his suspicions over Potter concerning the events on Sunday morning, but he wasn't a fool to go blazing with accusations. He also wasn't stupid enough to go asking the man directly as no one would ever admit to doing such a thing. Draco had decided then to use his stealth —risky, considering the treasure trove of witnesses that was the Ministry. It also helped very little that his department (International Diplomacy) worked very little with Aurors unless there was a crisis or an event, which meant that his presence in the department of Magical Law Enforcement would be seen as strange.

As luck would have had it, there was a diplomatic summit happening in a few months and Draco created a meeting, held not more than a couple of hours ago, for everyone who would be involved. Those included members of his own department, people from Muggle Relations, Marketing, Magical Security, and, of course, the Magical Law Enforcement. Draco hadn't planned on hosting this meeting for another three weeks, but it was opportune.

The most annoying thing that Draco had with Aurors was that their wands were, most often than not, kept in a holster. While it was convenient to easily whip a wand out that way, it also made it easy to have it taken if someone got too close. Draco didn't need to get that close, however. When the meeting was over, Draco was talking to one of his coworkers whose back had been turned to Potter as he also engaged in his own conversation. Potter's wand had been in Draco's eyesight, and with a subtle hand gesture and nonverbal magic, the wand gently freed itself from the holster and into Draco's hand before being tucked into the blond's back pocket that was hidden under his robes.

Eventually, Draco was the last one in the meeting room. While it wasn't illegal to check someone's wand for spells, it could be considered a breach of privacy. The spell typically used only gave information about its last spell, but Malfoys were a cunning lot. It wasn't unusual for them to have a variety spells that were modifications of others —like the one his father had used on Weasley. The one that Draco used on Potter's wand didn't only provide him the name of his last spell, but also provided a list of spells for any given day. Draco ran through Potter's spells for the Sunday that had just passed, but they were all innocuous. None of them could explain why Draco had felt the way he did upon waking in the afternoon. It had bothered him profusely, but his focused had shifted from that and to Hermione when he had seen her state.

And now his focused had shifted again.

"...be a little groggy when she wakes up," Healer Cimpo announced as he pocketed his wand, "but she will be fine."

"Thank you," Lucius nodded. "I will walk you out—"

"No, I'll do it," Draco spoke. He didn't miss the look his father gave him, but Draco ignored it as he escorted the Healers from his bedroom. He was taking them to the main parlor room on the bottom floor situated on the opposite side of the Manor. It was a hideously long journey, but made easy once there was company and conversation. Emphasis on conversation.

"May I ask what you did to Hermione exactly?"

"A technique called Mind Blocking," Healer Asteur explained. "It's a method to keep troubled thoughts from the conscious mind by creating a magical barrier."

"There are a lot of things that could make someone troubled," Draco said as looked from one Healer to the other. "How do you know what you're blocking?"

Healer Asteur and Healer Cimpo made eye contact briefly, as though mutually deciding whether to keep this next bit of information secret or not. Draco waited impatiently as they continued their walk and grew closer to the stairs.

"I'm a Legilimens," Healer Asteur admitted. "We both are. It comes in handy when treating the sick as we can find out what's wrong when the patient cannot say."

"I see. And when the patient is an Occlumens?"

They had reached the stairs. While Healer Asteur's gaze was towards the floor, Healer Cimpo was looking Draco dead in the face. The man may have been wrinkly all over and seemed as frail as an Azkaban prisoner on his death bed, but his eyes were a bright grey and seemed to be doing all the smiling that his mouth wasn't.

"Difficult," he answered, "but not impossible. When an Occlumens sleeps, his defenses are down, and it makes the walls that he has erected easier to move around. It's like watching the world through a fuzzy lens. You don't know exactly what you're looking at, but the longer you stare, the more patterns you see, and the more you recognize those patterns, the more you can fit them together like a puzzle. It's enough to get the job done. Wouldn't you agree?"

Draco held in his scoff. "Well, considering that my memory of Sunday morning is still shot after three days, I'd say that it does the job very well." He initiated the walk down the stairs, slowing down to keep watch on the old Healers and making sure they didn't take a misstep. Once they had reached the ground floor, his questioning resumed. "Do the barriers ever break?"

"They can," Healer Cimpo told him. "It varies, however, on when it could happen. For you? Your mind is used to walls —foreign or otherwise. I wouldn't expect them to break anytime soon. As for your fiancée...? Her madness could begin trickling back in two days, maybe three. Merlin forbid earlier."

"Hm. And what, Healer Cimpo, do you know of her madness?"

That knowing twinkle was in the Healer's eye again. It made Draco think of Dumbledore and the mysteriousness that he carried —a wealth of information that he only chose to reveal at the very last moment.

"We have been the Malfoy family Healers for quite some time," Healer Cimpo said, dodging the question, "and we are paid handsomely to keep the secrets of this family as such. Goodbye, Mr. Malfoy. Come, Healer Asteur."

They had made it to the parlor room and Draco watched as they both stepped into the fireplace, stated their destination, and were whisked away. He shouldn't have been surprised that they knew about his family's curse. He could only imagine just how many times someone had lost themselves and needed to be brought back to sanity. Draco wondered just what was it that he had seen or heard. How bad could it have been that his parents had to call in Healers to work complicated magic on an Occlumens such as himself? As bad as Hermione's experience? Whatever it was, he hoped to never remember or ever go through it again.

With a reluctant sigh, Draco realized that he would have to plot a murder.

* * *

It was possible for mental barriers to be created strong enough to last for a lifetime. This, of course, depended on the caster and the person they were created in. As Draco well knew, Occlumency could affect them, but there was also age, willpower, and memory jogging. It was the latter that had encouraged Draco not to tell Hermione in detail of what had happened to her on Wednesday, and also perhaps why his parents didn't tell him that it had happened to him as well. They needed to keep whatever hallucinations that had plagued them at bay, and he intended on doing just that. In the meantime, there were other matters to tend to.

"Your eyes are closed, right?" Hermione called from the dressing room. Draco could only chuckle as he sat on the edge of his bed. They were at the Manor, and aside from a master bathroom, his bedroom also included a dressing room and two on-call dressing elves.

"For the one hundredth time, yes, they're closed. Can you come out now before my eyes fuse shut?"

"Oh, alright, alright. No need to be cheeky."

Draco heard some rustling, and after a moment or two he heard Hermione telling him that it was okay to open his eyes now. He did, and he felt his voice catch in his throat. Although he had seen her in this dress already, he had been more focused on keeping her sane rather than what she had been wearing. He was glad now that he could finally appreciate it.

Now, Draco would never consider himself to be a fashion expert despite being particular in how he dressed. He had asked the women at _Cara's_ for something red because he thought that it would complement Hermione's skin well. He had been right. It was an A-line fit with a daring, yet still modest V-neck that left most of her upper chest exposed as the top rest neatly on the edge of her shoulders. The bodice glittered in an intricate flower design from her shoulders and just pass her waist. The rest was of the dress flowed in a soft chiffon fabric down to the floor. To top it all off, a chiffon cape began at her shoulders and covered her along her arms and down to the floor with the rest of her dress and leaving a gentle trail. And although Hermione hadn't turned around, Draco knew that it was a scoop-backed dress, her back shielded by a clear, sheer material.

The dress made her look like a queen.

"Stunning," Draco said after a prolonged pause and rose to his feet. "You'll make every woman jealous."

Hermione felt herself grow red, although hopefully not as red as her dress, and tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. The rest of her hair had been tended to by a style elf who had piled it neatly into a bun and clasped with a red and gold clip.

"That'll be convenient," Hermione scoffed. "Then they'll team up and poison me."

"That won't happen," Draco reassured. "We've gone over the details for tonight several times, and we have a solid plan."

"A lot of things could go wrong with that plan," she countered, but nevertheless, she took a deep breath. "Just keep your eyes on me."

Draco smiled and brought her hand to his lips. "Always. And our bet still stands?"

"It does."

"Then let's go."

Draco held out his arm for Hermione to take and she hooked her own with his. The party had already begun a forty-five minutes ago, but the couple of the hour couldn't just _walk_ into the event. No, they had to _announced_ —or so Narcissa said. It was bad enough that the most wicked people of the wizarding population knew that Hermione was going to marry Draco, but did they have to put their eyes on her the moment that she entered the room?

Regardless, a plan had been laid out for the evening to navigate the night with ease, and hopefully it went off without a hitch. In the meantime, Hermione and Draco made the trek from his bedroom, down the stairs, and down the left-hand corridor. They had to make yet another left and from there they could begin to hear the sounds of music in the air, tinkling champagne glasses, and chatter from the mouths of the devil's demons.

"Izzy," Draco called into the air, and the house elf apparated to his side with a bow. "Tell my parents that Hermione and I are ready to enter."

"Yes, Master Malfoy."

The house elf was gone with a soft _pop!_ and Hermione took a deep breath as she tightened her hold on Draco's arm. It wasn't long before the noise beyond the ballroom's doors dwindled down to soft murmurs. Narcissa's voice was blunted yet still recognizable, and moments later a sliver of light appeared as the doors opened, followed by a blinding brightness that made Hermione squint. With her eyes reopened and Draco gently pulling her along, she was finally able to see the magnitude of what she was walking into —literally and metaphorically.

Draco had given her a basic rundown of who would be in attendance tonight, but even then, Hermione couldn't believe her eyes. There were people here that the Ministry had been looking for for _years_ , casually in evening attire as though they were regular citizens. There were also others that had escaped custody and Death Eaters and suspected Death Eaters or supporters who had avoided Azkaban on a technicality or insufficient evidence.

Despite having Draco by her side, Hermione felt like everyone's eyes were solely focused on her. As for herself, her own gaze had become laser-focused on the mischievous grins, the heated glares, and the utter _hatred._ The night had barely begun, and already Hermione was regretting not putting her foot down harder and protesting this nonsense. She also regretted the lies that she was going to have to tell Harry after tonight. Naturally, she had told him what tonight entailed, and he had been completely up in arms about it. Regardless, she had promised to let him know how it went and to inform him of anyone on the MLE's wanted list. That list included a quarter of the people in this room, and despite the good that it would do, Hermione couldn't do it. It would directly implicate the family if she did, and while she cared nothing about if Lucius and Narcissa went to prison, she cared very deeply if Draco did —curse or not.

As Hermione and Draco walked through the crowd, bidding their hellos with gentle nods of acknowledgement, she realized that everyone was keener on just staring at her rather than speaking to her. That was perfectly fine. If such interactions could remain that way then the evening would be a success, but she knew that wouldn't be the case.

Guests aside, the ballroom really did look lovely. The room was bathed in gold walls with ceiling to floor windows every few feet. Beyond those windows was a terrace that Draco informed her could be entered from the double doors at on the other side of the ballroom. The ceiling housed enormous crystal chandeliers and the floors were a rose gold colored marble that reflected even better than a mirror. Along the walls where windows didn't cover were refreshment tables manned by butlers who served —what Hermione assumed —harder liquor than what was causally floating above people's heads.

"Draco, my boy!" exclaimed a man who could only be Draco's relative. He had Lucius' height, the blond hair, but blue eyes instead of grey. Standing alongside him was a slender woman, also with blond hair, and a tightly clasped smile. It was a wonder that her lips hadn't split.

"Uncle Damien," Draco addressed with a soft nod, "Aunt Lydia. The both of you look well."

"As do you," Damien smiled before turning his attention to Hermione. "You seem to have acclimated to our side of things well considering that you came to this event at all."

"Well, the event _is_ for us," Hermione replied, forcing herself to return Damien's show of teeth. "I wasn't going to miss it just because I'm none of the guests' favorite person."

Damien laughed at that and even Lydia gave a small chuckle. "No, no, you certainly aren't. You are ours, however...yes?"

Hermione's brow furrowed at this statement-turned-question, but Draco seemed to catch on quickly and he jumped into the conversation with an affirmation. "Yes, she is."

"Splendid," he happily replied. "That says a lot about you, Miss Granger," he added, "and while there is blood status to consider, you are still in this for the 'deadly' long haul. You're one of us now."

"Welcome to the family, dear," Lydia said to Hermione. She even went so far as to take her hand and give her a gentle pat before walking off with her husband. The brunette was astounded, to say the least, and she looked at Draco questioningly.

"The curse?"

"The curse," he confirmed. "They may not like you, no, but you're entangled in the web that is our messy lives. Not to mention that you're going to be a —"

"—Malfoy," she finished. "Yes, I've grown accustomed to that ridiculous theme."

Draco smiled at her while simultaneously giving a small wave to a man Hermione knew the Ministry had been searching for for the past three years. "Ridiculous, yes, but at least it keeps you safe to a certain degree."

To a certain degree appeared to be right. Mingling was part of this horrid night, but as Hermione stayed latched onto Draco and they made their way around the ballroom, she did notice a pattern. While there were obvious expressions of disdain and indifference, not a single soul said anything unkind to her. They spoke to her as though they were distant acquaintances before turning their attention to Draco and continuing on with conversation. Beneath the facades of pleasantries, Hermione could see the throbbing veins, the overextended smiles, and the white-knuckled clenches of their champagne glasses. They were all _desperately_ holding themselves back, and it was only now that Hermione understood just what the power of a name could hold and what a person's status in society could do. It was something to be respected (by most). Those who didn't had stayed towards one corner of the ballroom or promptly moved to another location if she got close. She and Draco kept a close eye on them for most of the evening.

Roughly two hours into the night, there were two rather eager guests who came to greet them and appeared to be less of the menacing sort. They had been in the same year as her, and the only thing that Hermione knew about them was that they had been in Slytherin and that while they weren't Death Eaters, their fathers were.

"Theo," Draco greeted and shook the man's hand. "Good to see you. Daph," he added to the woman beside him before gesturing to Hermione who still clung to his arm. "I'm not sure if the three of you have ever formally met. Hermione, this is Theo, and this is wife, Daphne."

"Pleasure," Theo smiled as he extended his hand to her. "I'm curious. What's your impression of the serpent's den so far?"

"It feels more like hell to me," Hermione snorted. Everyone laughed, Daphne the loudest as she picked up an hors d'oeuvre from a floating tray.

"That sounds about right," Daphne said as she took a bite out of her hors d'oeuvre. "Growing up around parties such as these doesn't erase the grime in the air from a select few. Our families have the worst taste in acquaintances —except for each other. Regardless, congratulations on your engagement, Ministry enforced or not. Have you set a wedding date yet?"

"We did, actually. Sunday, May 20th of next year."

"Oh, that's delightful! Much better than a sweltering hot mid-July wedding," Daphne added. "Not even a Cooling Charm could help. Right, Theo?"

Daphne turned to her left to find Theo heavy into a conversation with Draco. She shrugged, obviously used to them getting lost in chatter, and addressed Hermione. "Those two are going to be talking for a while, and I could use something stronger than what's being passed around on these trays. Follow me to the bar?"

Hermione felt her stomach turn. She had spent the better part of party by Draco's side, and although she was pretty sure that of all people Daphne wouldn't be the one to slip something toxic under her nose, it still unnerved her. She subtly glanced over the room and found Lucius and Narcissa who were speaking to someone who appeared to be family. Another uncle and aunt of Draco's, Hermione assumed. Then there was the special group that continued to stay out of her and Draco's way. They were nowhere near where the hard liquor drinks were being poured.

With an internal sigh, Hermione decided to put on her big girl cloak and go with it. Besides, it was nearly ten p.m., and things needed to move along before it got too late.

"Sure," Hermione agreed. "Draco," she tapped him on the shoulder, "sorry to bother you, but Daphne and I are headed for a drink."

Draco didn't respond right away. He merely checked the time on his watch before looking back at her and nodded. "Alright. Daph, while you can rival any man in the game of drink, please don't let my fiancée follow in your footsteps?"

"I'll make no such promise," Daphne grinned before bidding farewell to both him and her husband and linking her arm with Hermione's. They weaved their way through the crowd, some eyes lingering on them for longer than necessary, until they made it to one of the refreshment tables.

"Bourbon, please?" Daphne politely ordered. "An Ogden's would be lovely. Are you getting anything, Hermione?"

"I'll have a Martini."

"And a Martini," Daphne added. It wasn't long before a bourbon and a Martini were in her hands and she was passing the Martini over to Hermione. They were both quiet for a moment, silently sipping on their drinks (although, Daphne was almost chugging hers), as they watched everyone. "You know, out of all of the purebloods in our circles to get matched with, you got lucky."

Hermione didn't fully turn to face her, but she did eye Daphne from her periphery. "You think so?"

"Oh, I know so. You could've gotten someone like Marcus Flint."

Hermione followed where Daphne gestured with her glass, and there she found him. Marcus Flint. Despite it sounding incredibly shallow, he didn't appear to look as polished as most of the guests. She imagined that that was what Daphne was referring too, but she decided to humor the blonde anyway.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Pure in blood, yes, but awful etiquette, decorum, _everything._ "

"Wouldn't that go for any pureblood that's not in your circles?"

" _Our_ circles," Daphne corrected. "And technically speaking, yes. In fact, Weasley comes to mind —no offense."

"None taken."

"Even then there are differences between him and Marcus. Personality can make up for the fact that you walk like a troll or have the inability to properly hold a wine glass. Had Marcus been your suitor I would have shed a tear for your future. Loveless and a level of indifference to make you feel unwanted."

Daphne missed the way Hermione had suddenly given her all of her attention. The brunette glanced between her and Marcus, truly wondering if what she had said had stemmed from personal experience or hearsay. Hermione didn't ask, of course, and instead listened as Daphne spoke again.

"So, I repeat: you got lucky. Yes, you and Draco have a horrid past, but he'll always be there for you. If not out of true feelings, then simply because it's his duty as your husband. Nothing comes before family. Like Theo, he's been raised to honor that, and he will."

"Thank you for saying that," Hermione genuinely smiled. Daphne returned it and clinked their glasses.

"Of course. Draco's our friend, and now so are you. You're not alone in this, don't worry."

It was utterly amazing how easy Daphne offered her friendship when Hermione's own friends were calling her mad. It was why she had only told Harry about tonight. Ron was still miffed with her, and if he was upset, so was the remainder of the Weasleys. One of them was bound to break the wall of tension eventually, but it wasn't going to be her. Quite frankly, and perhaps cowardly, she hoped that Harry would be the ice breaker among them all.

Hermione and Daphne spent the next twenty minutes standing, talking, and drinking —Hermione with her single Martini, and Daphne quickly knocking back her second bourbon and turning to the server for an Old Fashioned. By the time it hit ten-thirty, Hermione set her glass down, told Daphne that she was going to head the restroom, and asked her to let Draco know where she had gone.

The party had begun to dwindle by now, and instead of pushing pass a sea of people, Hermione was gently gliding through the empty spaces of partygoers. There was a small, brightly lit hall to the far right from where she and Draco had entered that was meant for guests to use if they wanted to freshen themselves up. Aside from the restrooms, there were a few parlor rooms down this way and access to a private balcony. It was, truly, a lovely hall.

Hermione stood in the archway to the hall for a moment, her eyes scanning the thinning crowd. She caught sight of the motley crew that held the undesirables —those guests one had to invite, but no one really wanted to show up. Of those still there was Rabastan Lestrange. She had seen him all evening, and it made her skin crawl every time they had accidentally made eye contact. The last she had seen him face to face it had been in battle. If she was to be honest, he looked better back then than he did now. Years of running would do that to you.

Hermione turned on her heel when she felt Rabastan's eyes on her and headed to the restroom like she had originally planned. It was empty, and she was out of there within a few minutes. When she stepped back into the hall, however, she instantly realized that something was wrong.

The lights were out.

The hall that had been as radiant as the ballroom was suddenly shrouded in darkness, and the only light that remained was coming from the ballroom at the hall's opening. Hermione took a deep breath, slowly looking to her left and right as she bent forward to hike up her dress. She had stuck her wand in a holster on her thigh in case she needed it, and right now sure seemed like the right time. Her dress had been pulled up to her knee when she heard footsteps coming, and her hand had reached the handle of her wand when she felt another position itself on her neck to the left of her.

"You blend into the dark well," Hermione swallowed as she let go of her dress and let it fall to the floor. Her stalker laughed, and somehow she could tell that he was smiling.

"Shall we head into the parlor room, Miss Granger?" he asked politely. He also didn't wait for a reply. Hermione felt his hand grab ahold of her upper arm and lead her away from the rest of the masses. Obviously, this person was familiar with the home, and so perhaps it wasn't the Death Eater who had been eying her all night. A family member maybe? So much for the safety that being a Malfoy ensured.

Hermione was ushered into the nearest parlor room which was dimly lit. Under any other circumstances, she would have appreciated how well it was decorated. Red walls with gold trims, plush armchairs and loveseats around a coffee table, walls lined with books, and a large working desk with a desk chair suited for a king behind it. The room also held a fireplace that was currently unlit.

The rest of the light, however, illuminated her captor's face, and no, it wasn't family.

"Rodolphus," she said as she looked over him.

Rodolphus Lestrange was _not_ his brother. Whereas Rabastan was unkempt and akin to Marcus Flint in a way, Rodolphus was every definition of a proper pureblood. He wore an expensive set of dress robes that didn't have a wrinkle in sight, his shoes shined just as beautifully as the ballroom's floors, and not a single strand of hair was out of place. If Hermione wasn't aware of the evil that this man could do, she would have been lulled into a false sense of security. It was the smile that did it. White teeth, a hint of mischief, but overall charming. Even his laugh had its own pull —the sound of silk, it if it had one.

"I would like to have a word with you, if you don't mind."

"A word?" Hermione repeated. "You needed to train your wand on me for that?"

"Would you have come with me otherwise?"

"Absolutely not."

"You have your answer then. Sit, please."

Rodolohus sat on an armchair as he gestured to the other across from him. This was entirely unexpected, but Hermione complied regardless and sat down, her dress draping onto the floor to one side of her. His eyes followed her as she did so, and she did her best not to squirm under his gaze. It wasn't as horrid as it should have been —his stare. With a hand on his chin, his forefinger sliding across his mouth, he appeared to be appraising her form.

"Surprising, you have grace for someone of your…status."

"Am I suppose to say thank you?"

"It would be polite."

"You pulled a wand on me," Hermione said irately. "Forgive me if I'm not in the mood to show gratitude.'"

Rodolphus gave the most perfect shrug as he replied with an airy, "Very well," and crossed his ankle over his knee. "I take it that you understand that you are marrying into a very dangerous world?"

Hermione nodded. "I do."

"And I trust that you also understand that the majority of the guests tonight have plotted your death twice over?"

"Including you?" Hermione dared to ask. Rodolphus was smiling again. It even reached his eyes —eyes that she could now see were a dazzling blue.

"Why, Miss Granger, you offend me," he replied as he leaned further back onto his seat. "I know better than to bite the hand of the one who feeds me."

 _That_ sobered Hermione instantly, and while she fought the rise of her brows, she, too, leaned back, and crossed her legs at the knees.

"Tell me, what exactly am I feeding you?"

"Well, it's more of a quid pro quo, if you will. On your end, loyalty, and on my end, protection."

Hermione nearly choked on air. Instead, she swallowed the lump in her throat and questioned him.

"Why on earth should either of those two things happen? I owe you nothing, and I certainly wouldn't trust my life in your hands. I'd trust Lucius before I'd trust you."

"Oh, but Lucius doesn't get his hands as dirty as he used to," Rodolphus countered. "He doesn't have his ears to the streets —I do. Whereas he would find out a plot about you the day before, I would have known it a week in advance. Being a fugitive has its advantages compared to an upstanding citizen," he added with a cocky pop of his collar.

Hermione rolled eyes at him —an action he clearly detested by the instant pursing of his lips. It probably wasn't ladylike.

"And you would do this in exchange for my loyalty? In what form would that look like exactly?"

"As I've said, I'm a fugitive. The Ministry has raided _two_ of my homes in the last year. You work there and you're friends with Potter. It doesn't matter how you do it, but I need Aurors off of my trail."

Hermione had heard Rodolphus, yes, but she still hadn't believed him. The room had clouded itself in a layer of quiet as the man watched her and as she retreated into her thoughts. It wasn't long before the clearing of his throat brought her back. When she finally acknowledged him, she had fully succumbed to the hilarity of it all.

"Unbelievable," Hermione breathed. "After years of hating me, you need me. You _actually_ need me."

"'Need' is a bit strong," Rodolphus sniffed. "You are…an accessory."

"You need me," she repeated firmly. "Don't pretend that this is a casual favor that you're asking for. Your offer of 'protection' is a weak bait, because while I can protect myself, Draco would never let anything happen to me. You need me far more than I, supposedly, need you, because without me Aurors won't stop. So," Hermione smiled as she cupped her hands over her knee, "how does it feel to be at the mercy of a muggleborn?"

"Bite your tongue," Rodolphus hissed. "You are nothing more than a means to an end."

"What end?" Hermione goaded. "Unless I die, I'm not going anywhere." She saw his face morph into a hideous scowl, and it gave her such a thrill to see how much she annoyed him. The throbbing veins she had seen in various guests tonight had now manifested in the man before her, and she felt the urge to laugh. It was light flutter, but a sinister one. It rang an eerie bell, but she didn't concentrate on it, and instead rose to her feet.

"You won't be the last," she said as she casually strode towards him. "Others will come to see the benefit of staying on my good side. A _muggleborn's_ good side. Their very livelihoods rests with me —hell, I could tell Harry tonight just who I saw so he can make his arrests." Hermione was standing directly in front of Rodolphus now, still sitting on the armchair, but absolutely seething with rage. She looked down at him with the sweetest grin, and interlaced her fingers. "The tables have certainly turned, and I must tell you that it gives me _great_ pleasure to know that a Death Eater such as yourself was the first."

"You know, Miss Granger," he said slowly as finally stood, those extra six inches he had in height causing him to tower over her. "I think that you have forgotten that no one knows the two of us are here. What I suggested was a mere offer. I don't _need_ you, as you suggest." Rodolphus suddenly pulled out his wand with a speed that defied his age and jammed it into her throat. "So, tell me, how is Draco going to protect you from me, hmm?"

"Why don't you ask him?"

Rodolphus tilted his head slightly, but he followed the witch's eyes as she looked just pass him. He turned around to find the very blond he had asked about with a small statue of Merlin in his hands.

"Hello, Uncle."

The statue collided with Rodolphus' head and he immediately fell to the ground. Hermione looked on, unfazed, as Draco walked around the armchair and stood over his uncle who was having trouble getting to his feet. With each movement he made —a hand on the neighboring couch, an attempt to crawl backwards but slipping —was a labored effort in vain.

"It's not nice to threaten people," Draco said calmly as he bent over Rodolphus and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. "It's even worse when you train a wand on them." Draco roughly let him go and with two hands on the base of the statue brought it down onto Rodolphus' head. This time, the older man didn't move. He did sputter, however, as blood splashed from his mouth to accompany the trickles from his left temple. Draco hit him again, this time no more sputter, and no more movement at all, but that didn't stop him from crashing the statue onto Rodolphus a fourth time, and soon a fifth, as Hermione leisurely sat on the couch and watched the scene with her head and arms leaning along the couch's backrest.

"I think he's dead," Hermione said before Draco landed a sixth blow. He looked over at her with the statue held over his own head, ready to bring it down, his chest heaving from the exertion. Blood had splattered him. It had ruined the white of his shirt, stained his neck, and droplets had decorated his cheeks.

Draco dropped the statue and got up from the floor. He was looking over his handiwork when Hermione spoke again.

"You lost the bet. Out of everyone to come after me, it was Rodolphus. He wasn't even trying to kill me —until I provoked him, that is."

"I must admit that I am surprised," Draco mused. "You goaded him beautifully by the way. I think he would have actually done it."

"Which justifies you killing him," Hermione added. "Although, I should probably paint the picture better. Care to help?"

"Gladly."

Draco scanned the floor for Rodolphus' wand and picked it up with the hem of his dress robes. Hermione was already on her feet, and with careful movements of the wand, her dressed was ripped near the hip. He placed the wand back where he had found it, and with his own hands Draco roughly pulled at the shoulders of Hermione's dress. She undid the clasp that held her hair together and tossed it on the floor near the coffee table where Rodolphus' wand was and ruffled her hair. Together, Hermione and Draco adjusted the armchair that Rodolphus had been siting in to make it look like it had been pushed back during a struggle.

They gave one final look around the room before turning to each other, and, without meaning to, they paused. This image was reversed. Instead of Hermione being covered in blood, it was Draco. The internal switch of yearning had never turned off the night Hermione had killed that vagabond, but a new murder had fueled what had been ignited. It didn't help that Hermione was currently disheveled, and Draco could see it all playing out in his head. One good hike of her dress and pass her thighs and it would be just like their first time: passionate and uninhibited. He knew that she could see it too, and it made his cock twitch with excitement as she drew her lip between her teeth, one of her hands tracing a finger across the mounds of her breasts.

Unfortunately, they needed to focus.

"I'm going to call for help," Draco pushed himself to say. "Make the tears good."

Hermione nodded and reached up to plant a kiss on his forehead before urging him to go. "Of course."

* * *

 **Author's** **note:** This chapter answered some questions, but I'm sure it raised a few more lol. I can't wait to hear your thoughts!

-WP


	11. No Exit

***Chapter dedicated to the lovely ladies** **LadyKenz347, Frumpologist, and Elle-Morgan Black***

* * *

 _"Hermione, I'm going to suggest something...and I don't think that you'll like it."_

 _That was perhaps the worst thing that Draco could have said just as they were going to bed. They were at Hermione's house and she had just crawled into bed and moved to snuggle him, but stopped mid-motion in her action. She was sitting bolt upright now and regarding him with cautious eyes._

 _"What is it?"_

 _Draco couldn't look at her. It was bad enough that her innocence had been stripped away through no fault of her own, but now he felt like he was adding to it. Not his parents. **Him.** It made him feel dirty and utterly worthless, but that was his life now, wasn't it? A slave to the depraved?_

 _He sighed and with his eyes focused on the far edge of the bed he finally spoke. "Alright. We both know dangerous tomorrow is going to be. It's very likely that someone may attempt to hurt you_ — _if not outright kill you." Draco slowly turned to look at her and found her wearing her impatience on her sleeve. It made him smile, but he frowned shortly after. "I think we should make it easy for them."_

 _Hermione had been knocked sideways with that last comment and she furrowed her brow at what she thought she misunderstood. "Come again?"_

 _"One kill between us isn't going to satisfy the curse, you know that."_

 _"Yes, but_ — _"_

 _"And if we wait until we've gone insane, it'll be too late."_

 _"But Draco, we're not crazy. We haven't been having any symptoms_ — _"_

 _"_ — _yet," Draco interrupted. "We haven't had them **yet**. However, when we do, it'll be sinister. It'll invade every part of our being until we won't know what's real anymore."_

 _"Draco, stop it, you're scaring me," Hermione frantically hushed him as she pulled her comforter closer to her body. It was chilling her to the core, his vivid description, and that's when she gasped. It was **too** vivid. Hermione frowned when she hesitantly asked, "Did...? Did something happen to you?"_

 _Guilt immediately flooded Draco's face. It was now that he had chosen to look at her rather than at the bed, and that's when she saw it. It wasn't just guilt that had overtaken him. It was also sadness and fear. Draco was absolutely troubled and scared, but it wasn't for his own wellbeing._

 _Hermione gulped. "Me."_

 _It wasn't a question, and Draco didn't intentionally do anything to confirm or deny, but he did turn his attention back to the bed. "What exactly happened to—?"_

 _"Don't," Draco sternly ordered. Hermione nearly fell to the floor with his fierce tone and he instantly regretted it. "Sorry. It's just that Healers put Mind Blocks in you and you could break them if we talk about what happened. Just trust me when I say that we need to do this, and know that from the **deepest** part of me that I wish this wasn't our only option."_

 _"I believe you," Hermione assured him. It lifted a weight that Draco didn't know that he was carrying. At least she didn't think that he was a monster. "What do you propose we do?"_

 _"I don't want to put you directly into harm's way. I just figured that **if** someone tries to attack you, if we killed him or her then it would be self-defense. A two birds with one stone sort of deal."_

 _"And if that doesn't work?"_

 _"We thank Merlin that no one tried to kill you and then think of a Plan B."_

 _"I don't know which option I prefer," Hermione inappropriately chuckled. "Should we target anyone in particular?"_

 _"No, I don't think we should. Dangling you like bait, however, will probably work best. And I'd bet anything that Rabastan will be the one to bite..."_

* * *

Hermione didn't realize that it was so difficult to fake tears until tonight. She hadn't been scared when faced with Rodolphus or when Draco had killed him. She also wasn't sorry. Regardless, she was going to sell this thing. And so, Draco had run off in a well-acted frenzy down the hall while Hermione sat on the couch holding herself and shedding faux tears. Some moments later Draco came back into the parlor room with his parents at his heels. Their shock was palpable, although Hermione swore that she could detect something else from them. Pride?

Hermione didn't concentrate on it. She focused on playing the victim all the while overhearing Draco arguing with his parents about the guests who remained and about how to handle the Aurors who needed to be owled. In the end, the most "notorious" guests were advised to leave, and by the time Aurors arrived there was no one to arrest. They only surveyed the scene, took the necessary photographs, confiscated the murder weapon, and told Hermione and Draco that they needed to be escorted to the Ministry to take their statements.

That was Hermione's situation now. She was sitting in an interrogation room, her tears long gone, and spinning the half-truth that she and Draco had drawn up.

"...after I slapped him, Lestrange pulled his wand on me. Draco hit him with the statue then."

"From the look of Lestrange, it seems like Mr. Malfoy got a good few hits in," the Auror mused. "A bit excessive, don't you think?"

"Draco came in to see someone trying to kill me," Hermione countered. "Is anything ever excessive in that case?"

"I suppose not. And neither Draco nor your soon-to-be in-laws noticed that Lestrange was there? He is a wanted criminal after all. One has to wonder what he was doing there."

"I promise you that had they known that he was there something would have been done. You can ask Narcissa Malfoy for the invitations that she sent out. He wasn't invited."

"I'll be sure to request them from her," the Auror smiled gently before laying his Quick Notes Quill down. "That's all of my questions. If anymore come to mind, I'll reach out to you."

"Thank you. Does that mean I can go now?"

"In a moment. There's someone else that would like to speak with you."

"Oh," Hermione replied with a furrowed brow. "Yes, alright."

The Auror nodded to her and got up from his seat. Beyond the door he spoke to someone briefly, but Hermione couldn't see nor hear the other person's voice. She wasn't left in the dark much longer, however, when the door reopened and a man with bright purple robes entered and sat down across from her.

"Kingsley," Hermione breathed. It took a second before she cleared her throat and amended with a soft, apologetic smile, "I mean, Minister Shacklebolt."

Kingsley returned her smile and cupped his hands on the table. "Hello, Hermione. How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," she shrugged. "All things considered, of course."

"Yes. And with all things considered, I think that a grave mistake was made."

The word "mistake" rang through Hermione's mind, but she didn't interrupt. She saw within those few seconds that while Kingsley had appeared happy to see her, there was also a burden weighing on him. His sigh released the rest of it. "I know that the match between you and Mr. Malfoy was a lottery, but it should have been reconsidered. The past between you two shouldn't have been ignored and judging from tonight's events I'm even more sure about it. I've spoken with Arthur Dewberry —he's the Department Head of Marriages and Divorces. We've agreed to allow you and Mr. Malfoy to have a redraw."

 _We've allowed you and Mr. Malfoy to have a redraw._

A sharp pain radiated through Hermione's chest. A redraw? Kingsley was offering her a _redraw?_ The pain and pressure she was feeling had deepened into the pit of her stomach and her heart raced. Her thoughts were going at a million miles per minute, masking her reply to the Minister that she was almost sure had remained unspoken and in her mind.

"I didn't think that a redraw was even possible."

"Normally no," Kingsley admitted, "but there _are_ ways for it to be done. As you can imagine, those methods aren't widely publicized or else everyone would ask for one. Instead, the Department of Marriages and Divorces have been logging complaints from paired off couples and swapping partners as seen fit. We can add you and Mr. Malfoy to the list and work on finding new matches for you."

Hermione had been staring Kingsley in the eye as he spoke, but now she was focusing on the table. Maybe if she didn't look at him, maybe she could forget what he had told her. She could pretend that she wasn't just given the opportunity of a lifetime that she couldn't take. Or could she? She and Draco weren't married yet. The curse had only taken effect because the marriage law had, technically, bounded them together. What if they found new partners?

"Are you alright?"

Hermione snapped her eyes to him. She had apparently drifted off into her own world. Despite this, her hand had gravitated to her heart, and she was now aware of her shallow breaths and the tightness that filled her lungs.

"I don't want a redraw."

Kingsley blinked and his mouth fell open despite the attempt to keep it closed. "I'm sorry?"

"I don't want a new match," she repeated, the words weighing down her tongue, but lessening the discomfort in her chest. "Draco and I have our differences, yes, but we're pushing them aside to make this work."

"But the circumstances —"

"—aren't the same?" Hermione finished. "You have no idea," she added and doing her best not to let real tears flow unlike the ones she had faked for Lestrange. "I'm sure that there will be more nights like tonight, but we'll get through it together. Draco's already protected me once. I know that he'll keep doing it."

Hermione knew that Kingsley was confused. The pause that he now took wasn't from that confusion, however, but she knew that he was giving her time to rethink her words and tell him what she _should_ be saying. It didn't happen, and Kingsley let out a resigned sigh as he nodded, conceding to this unforeseen set of events.

"Alright. I'll take you to Mr. Malfoy and then the both of you may go."

They both stood and Kingsley held the door open and let Hermione leave. Apparently, Draco had been questioned in an interrogation room at the end of the hall, and he turned when her door opened, obviously surprised that the Minister was following her.

"Everything alright?" he asked after bidding a curt nod to Kingsley.

"Yes, it's fine. Let's get out of here."

* * *

Usually observant, Draco found it odd that Hermione had yet to catch him looking at her from the corner of his eye. She was held captive by whatever thoughts were floating around in her mind, and not even a clever quip or soft touch from him could release her from them.

Draco sighed and downed his second glass of aged brandy before reaching for the bottle to pour a third. They had returned to the Manor a little over two hours ago. Naturally, his parents had been still awake and waiting to hear what Aurors had asked their son and soon-to-be daughter-in-law and what they had answered in return. A small debriefing had occurred before Draco and Hermione bid his parents goodnight and retreated to his bedroom. They had dressed for bed, but Hermione (much to Draco's surprise) had wanted a nightcap. At this present moment while he was sipping on his third nightcap, Hermione was still cradling her first.

With a frustrated groan, Draco turned away from the minibar and faced his fiancée. "You lied."

This roused Hermione some and she finally looked up.

"Back at the Ministry you said that everything was fine, but clearly it's not. Something that was said or done upset you. What was it? Was it the Minister?" he tacked on the question without waiting for her to reply. "It is, isn't it? I thought it strange that he was in the interrogation room with you. What did he want?"

Hermione took a deep breath and set aside the glass of brandy in her hands. With it on the coffee table and nothing to no longer distract herself with, she blurted it out.

"The Minister offered a re-draw."

"He what?"

"Long story short? The Minister felt bad for me. He said, and I quote, that a "grave mistake was made" and offered me —offered _us_ —a chance to marry other people."

Hermione paused to let the news sink in. She had been stuck in a reverie all this time because she didn't know how to tell him that they had missed their only opportunity to be free. Granted, Draco would have still been cursed and some other unfortunate witch would have been in her stead, but there would have been a moment. A single moment of reprieve where they would be free to think and feel of their own volition and not be compelled by wiles of a supernatural sort.

Now that the bomb had been dropped, Hermione watched as Draco's brows furrowed, his eyes darting from left to right as the information rattled around his brain, and his jaws clench repeatedly. She waited, patiently, for what he would say, and when he did manage to speak, it was perfect —poetic even.

"Life's a bitch," Draco breathed. He locked eyes with Hermione before suddenly chuckling. That low rumble from his throat escalated to an actual laugh, and without warning he threw the brandy-filled glass across the room. It hit the wall smashed into a dozen pieces, the ground now littered with glass and alcohol. "Our lives are a mess," he continued to laugh. "Can you believe it?"

Draco kept laughing, and soon Hermione joined in. Her shoulders shook at first, then the raucous joy left her lips as she truly considered the situation. It was hilarious in the most terrible way, and the more she thought about it, the more she laughed, and the more she laughed, the wetter her eyes became. The wetter they were, the more tears overflowed, and the more they overflowed, the saltier the taste in her mouth.

"You should've been there when I told him no," Hermione giggled and cried at the same time as she rose from the couch. "I wanted to say yes, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't leave you. The pain that I felt at the mere thought of it was just awful. Merlin," she shook her head as she wiped her tears, "I don't know what's worse. The idea of leaving you or saying no to mental and emotional freedom."

"I wish I could've seen your face," Draco manically cackled as he picked up another glass and chucked it. When he turned to face Hermione, she could see it, —the glossy look over the whites of his eyes, and the clear sheen that travelled from their corners down his cheeks. "It must've been the best poker face, but you were dying on the inside."

"Yes," she admitted, sniffled, and then laughed. "I was dying. I'm dead."

"Oh, no you're not," he replied as he walked over and scooped her into his arms. "They're dead. All of them out there. All because my bloody parents saw fit to seal our fates." Draco grinned and swiped his upper lip with his tongue. He stared at his future wife, eyes blood shot, but a happy smile on her face to rival that of a sinister clown. "You're stuck with me."

"Yes, I am."

"We're screwed."

Hermione swallowed deeply, but nodded nonetheless. "Yes, we are."

"You love me."

"I do love you."

"Good," Draco said as he kissed her roughly. He bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, but he licked it away and got lost in her touch as her hands grasped the sides of his neck. "Just promise me something," he whispered against her lips, travelling slowly down her neck and across her shoulder as his hands slid across them and let the straps of her negligee fall to the sides. "Find a way to break the curse." He lifted his head to look her in the eye, his right hand purposely travelling down her left arm to make it to her hand. "You're a smart and wise woman," he said, his fingers caressing the ring he had given her, "you'll be able to do it."

Hermione interlocked her hand with Draco's and squeezed tightly. His tears were gone and so were hers. All that was left now was an unspoken agreement that could potentially change the course of their lives.

Not tonight, of course. Hermione loosened her grip on Draco's hand and brought it and her other hand to her negligee's straps and let it gracefully slip to the floor. She relished in the way his eyes roamed every inch of her and the insatiable lust that had gripped them at Rodolphus' demise came rushing back.

"You killed someone," she said as she hooked her thumbs into the sides of her underwear and pushed them down until they joined her negligee on the floor. "We also just found out what a sick sense of humor the universe has. I need you to take off your clothes, please."

Whatever fit of self-loathing that had remained in Draco was instantly wiped away. Instead, he smirked at his witch and tutted. "After everything you've been through in the past few hours, you're still so polite."

"Fine," Hermione smirked back, "fuck me into the floor."

Those words were music to Draco's ears — not because of its vulgarity, and not because it was the greenlight to do just as Hermione had said. It was because he needed it. He allowed her to undress him because, just for a moment, he needed to be cared for and tended to. Draco trailed his mouth over her body, forcing himself to sink to his knees so that he could nibble and bite on the inside of her thigh. He felt Hermione's hands through his hair and an unexpected pull when his tongue darted pass her lips. It reminded him that this was real. Every sound of pleasure was needed to drown out every negative thought on how his life had gone to shit in record time.

At least he still had Hermione. Something inside told him that she would keep him sane in a way that killing couldn't. He would do the same for her. More than just their lives depended on it.

* * *

 **Author's note:** For anyone who may have read the play "No Exit" by Jean-Paul Satre can probably understand why I chose the title. To be trapped by _choosing_ to be trapped is an interesting concept, and very relevant to Hermione here.

I also dedicated this chapter to LadyKenz347, Frumpologist, and Elle-Morgan Black. The two former ladies run a podcast called Wine, Wands and Waffling about fanfiction that you can find on Spotify, Apple, and Google. They had Elle on a segment and she recc'ed this story (thank you!). All three them had such lovely things to say about me, so I just wanted to say thanks and that you guys made my day when I was feeling really sick lol. Much love and hugs!

-WP :)


	12. Pricelss

It had been a long night, and neither Draco nor Hermione had had any intentions on waking up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to have breakfast with Draco's parents. Instead, they slept in. They could both admit that sharing a couch for the night wasn't exactly good for the back or other body parts, but they would groan about it later. Upon their waking around noon, Draco called for a house elf to serve them breakfast in the parlor room where they had slept. Hermione had still been tired and so she rolled back over, head buried in her arm, while Draco sat on the edge of the couch and watched her sleep.

Memories of last night (or this morning rather) were all a messy blur, but two things were clear: The Ministry had been willing to let them marry other people, and Hermione had said no.

"Damn bastards," Draco grumbled quietly. They knew that partners could be rearranged and they had kept that secret to themselves. He knew that a new witch to marry wouldn't have saved him from the horrid future he was doomed to live, but Hermione...

Draco sighed and ran his hands over his face. Hermione deserved better. That was the bottom line of it all. How comical it was that this woman —a beacon of light to nearly the entire wizarding population —was doomed to ruin it from the inside out. Unless she could actually break the curse, that is. It was an unfair task that he had asked of her and a hard one to boot. Besides, she had been right back when they had first met in the Ministry. Tampering with curses was never wise. Much like the one on his family, they could be worsened from their original casting or backfire in some type of way. He wondered, though, how worse things could get, but shuddered at the mere thought. At least in the interim he would make the curse work to their advantage.

"You're going to get worry lines in your forehead if you keep squinting like that," Hermione said from where she lay. Draco hadn't even realized that she had stirred.

"I'm not squinting. I'm thinking."

"Well, you squint when you think. What are you thinking so deeply on anyway?"

"That we should go on a date."

Hermione had only been half-awake and marginally alert, but now the sleep had disappeared from her eyes as she stared at the man who was looking down at her. "What?"

"A date," Draco repeated. "You know, the thing two people do to get to know each other? Typically romantic in nature?"

"I know what a date is, thank you," Hermione replied as she sat up. "I'm just confused as to why you think we need one?"

Draco sheepishly shrugged, and for the first time in her life Hermione saw him blush.

"Well, because of this blasted marriage law we skipped over the whole dating thing and went straight to engagement and shagging on the daily. Now, while I don't quite mind the former and I'm damn sure not complaining about the latter, I think we owe it to ourselves to do something normal. Something that we've actually _chosen_ to do." Draco ran a hand through his hair and shrugged once more. "I'm pretty sure there's more to know about you than just the sex positions you like."

Hermione knew that it was rude to stare, but she couldn't help it. Draco was asking her on a date. While there were times that she couldn't tell whether her actions were curse-induced or not, this wasn't one of those times. Curse-induced actions were impulsive, bold, overwhelming, lust-filled, and often defiled her moral compass. This…this wasn't that.

"Okay," she replied meekly. Draco had turned his face from her while her shock was poorly masked. Now he had faced her again, relief having washed over him.

"Yeah?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded. "You're right. We owe it to ourselves."

"Alright then," Draco smiled. "I'll plan something."

Hermione matched his smile and they sat grinning like schoolchildren before a house elf brought breakfast in for them. With the horrid night of yesterday behind them and a date night to look forward to, they ate breakfast in peace. They talked about mundane things like books, topics from the Daily Prophet, and playfully debated about where they would spend their honeymoon. Normal felt nice. Hermione had almost forgotten what it was like.

"Your mother wants to send out invitations for the wedding next month. She asked me to compile a list of guests." Hermione took a moment to sigh before sipping her second cup of tea. "It's been hard to make one."

Draco was tempted to frown, but he kept it in check. They didn't _both_ need to be solemn. "I probably know the answer why, but humor me."

"While I'm sure my family would love to come to the _wedding of the ages_ , as your mother calls it, I doubt very much for any other guests —except Harry."

"Can't disagree with you on that one," Draco replied. "However, far be it from me to tell you how to tackle your friends, but Potter's the only one you've tried to mend bridges with, isn't he?"

Hermione pursed her lips, clearly not wanting to agree with Draco, but it was impossible. She hadn't spoken to any of the Weasleys since Ron had been admitted to the hospital —exactly one week and a day ago. Last she heard from Harry, Ron would be returning to work tomorrow, so she supposed the repairing of rifts would start then. What a _joy_ that was going to be.

"Let's take a walk."

"What?" Hermione snapped out of her inner thoughts to find Draco standing with his hand outstretched to her.

"You're squinting," he teased and watched her face turn red. "You need a walk to calm your mind, so let's shower and dress. I'll show you the Manor's gardens."

"Flowers are going to take my mind off of things?" Hermione questioned as she put her hand in his and was pulled up.

"Don't question what you haven't seen yet," Draco grinned, and they walked hand-in-hand back to his bedroom.

* * *

Their shower, as expected, was more than that since they had unwisely decided to shower together. When they finally did manage to get clean, Draco brought Hermione to the south side of the Manor. There wasn't much to behold there except for one very long corridor filled with paintings of Malfoy relatives. Hermione noticed that none of them spoke and were quite muggle in nature.

"It's the quietest part of the Manor," Draco explained to her. "It was specifically designed that way for peace, hence no moving portraits."

Hermione smiled at the thought of it, and when they finally reached the end of the corridor, Draco pushed open two large walnut doors that must have had a charm on them for ease of use. Whereas the brunette had been smiling before, her jaw had dropped now. The Malfoy gardens were...exquisite. They were on the second floor and had walked out onto a rather large terrace. On either side of them were staircases that curved downward to the grounds. Despite having much to explore, Hermione didn't want to move. From the height she could see it all. It was an endless field of strategically placed arches of vines and flowers of a vast variety of type and color. Pathways were made of white brick and along the paths were marble pedestals with overflowing bouquets of lilies that touched the grass. On the patches of green were water fountains of beautiful cherubs and replica statutes of _muggle_ artists' work. She couldn't hold back her surprise when she saw _David_ and _The Thinker_ and wondered just what else was waiting to be viewed up close.

"Shall we?" Draco asked as he urged her towards one of the staircases. They went down arm in arm until they reached the ground. He let Hermione go then and watched her do just as he thought she would —go right up to one of the statues. She was currently looking up at _David_ , absolutely enthralled.

"Beautiful," she breathed as she tried not to touch it. "How did your family get a replica of this?"

"Who said that it was a replica?"

Hermione immediately lost her footing and ended up leaning against the statue. Mortified, she jumped up, turning her head from _David_ to Draco repeatedly. Eventually, she caught herself, albeit in a stammer. "S-surely you're joking… It's supposed to be in Italy!"

Draco innocently shrugged, hands in his pockets, and smug pride dripping off of him. "Do you really think that the Italian government —muggle or wizard —would let such a priceless artifact be so easily accessible? What's in the Galleria dell'Accademia, as well as various museums throughout Europe, are the replicas —crafted by witches and wizards per an agreement between the wizard and muggle Ministries spearheaded by my grandfather. The real statues were placed here —protected under the many enchantments the Manor holds and added safety measures on the gardens themselves."

Hermione was at a loss for words. She was looking at _David_ again, this time not only appreciative of its beauty, but in awe of a historic masterpiece.

"Forgive me for being so judgmental," she began after a quick lick of her lips, "but why would your grandfather care about these? They were created by muggle artists."

"Yes, they were. However, they're art. _Priceless_ art. The stereotypical pureblood prides himself on what's beautiful, rare, and costly. Works by Picasso and the like are very much that, and it would be foolish to discount something so coveted despite who carved or painted it. It has value, and that's what's important."

"That's…an interesting ideology," Hermione mused as she continued to admire David. She then suddenly faced Draco with widened eyes. "You said painted… Are there paintings here, too? Like... _Madonna of the Rocks_ , by chance?"

Draco swore he could feel Hermione's heart flutter from where he stood. He silently chuckled to himself before offering his arm. "Follow me."

* * *

Draco had been right. The gardens really had taken Hermione's mind off of things. Instead of thinking of her friends, she was lost in a sea of masterful works of art. _The Birth of Venus, The Son of Man, Discobolus,_ and _Venus de Milo_. She felt like she had travelled the world with all that she saw and felt foolish when a tear rolled down her eye as she gazed upon _The Kiss_ by Gustav Klimt. It was one of her favorite paintings from the colors used, the patterns, and the overall beauty. It was simply magnificent, but the painting wasn't what lay at the forefront of her mind as she and Draco headed back to his bedroom.

As Hermione had been lost in the painting, she suddenly realized that she felt warm. She had looked down for just a moment to notice that Draco's arms were around her waist. She was warm because he was standing behind her, his arms around her midsection, and holding her against him. Had he been so gentle or had she been so enraptured that she hadn't noticed? Regardless, Hermione found herself cherishing that moment even more than _The Kiss._

"Master Malfoy," a house elf greeted once Hermione and Draco had left the gardens and made it back to the main portion of the Manor. "Pardon the intrusion, but Mistress Malfoy requests to see you in her quarters."

"For a frivolous reason, I imagine," Draco groaned before turning to Hermione at his side. "Can you make it back without getting lost?"

"I suppose we'll find out," Hermione grinned before kissing him on the cheek and taking off down the hall without him.

The Manor was big, yes, but despite its size there were only so many hallways and rooms that Draco and his parents used. Having spent far more time in this, surprisingly, not-so-morbid home than she thought she would have, Hermione had learned to figure out her way around. As she was walking, she began to hear familiar voices, and she slowed her steps on purpose. It was Draco's parents, of course, and while she wasn't usually one to snoop in on conversations, this time was different. She had heard her name, and that had warranted investigation.

"...told the Auror that I had sent out the invitations," Narcissa was saying to Lucius. "I'll send the RSVPs to him after I speak with Draco. While I don't think that the Ministry will pry very hard, it's still a good idea to have a more solid story just in case."

"I agree. I didn't think Rodolphus, of all people, would be the one to attack the witch. He had far more decorum than that. At least the engagement party did what it was supposed to do. Another brilliant idea, darling."

"Anything for our son."

"Yes, Draco," Lucius chuckled. Hermione couldn't see him, but she could still hear his smile. "He did me proud. His uncle was barely recognizable."

"I can remember a few times where a man at _your_ hand was just the same."

"Of course. What won't a man do for the woman he loves?"

"He would do anything," Narcissa happily replied.

Hermione heard shuffling on the inside and she went back the way she came and turned a corner. She heard Narcissa's heels on the well-polished floor, and the brunette cursed herself for not having her wand on her. She supposed a good lie would have to do as to why she was just standing in the hall, but to her pleasure, the matriarch continued straight rather than curtailing right. Hermione sighed deeply before stepping out into the hall again. Lucius hadn't followed her, nor did she hear any other footsteps indicating that he had left.

She could go. Hermione could have headed to Draco's bedroom just as she had intended to do, but a bubble of mischief had risen in her chest and it couldn't be ignored. Her purposeful strides carried her outside of a dark, well-carved door that had been left slightly cracked. When she pushed it open, she was met with, she had to admit, an impressive library. Part of her lost focus once she had seen it for it reminded her of Hogwarts. It was by no means very large, but the way the bookshelves rose into the ceiling and the three large rectangular desks, chairs, and lamps set upon the tabletops brought back vivid memories for her. Lucius was sitting at the head of one of these tables at the far end of the room. His back faced a stained-glass window that depicted a hippogriff in midflight. Tricks of the light, or perhaps magic, made the creature appear to move as she walked further into the room.

Lucius was reading, and he brought a finger to his tongue before lazily turning a page in his book. "Did you forget something, dear?"

While the term of endearment wasn't new for Hermione to hear him say, the fact that it was directed at her, mistake or not, sent an uncomfortable shiver through her. A grime that her mind had tricked her into feeling over her skin.

"You're addressing the wrong witch," Hermione said as she approached the second desk. Lucius looked up then, surprise clearly evident, but wiped away as though it hadn't appeared.

"My apologies," he replied as he closed his book, a thumb held between its pages so as not to lose his place. "Are you lost, by chance?"

"No. Just wandering as I make it back to Draco's room."

"I see. Well, as beautiful as the Manor is to behold, wandering would be unwise. Some of these halls may prove to be a danger to you."

"Oh, I'm not worried," Hermione smiled as she finally made it to the last desk. She was three seats away from Lucius, and while he didn't seem fazed by her proximity, he was at the very least intrigued. "It can't be any more dangerous than your wife's attempts to kill me."

The intrigue had morphed back into surprise. This time, however, Lucius didn't reel it in. Instead, he set his book aside completely before motioning to the chair on his right for her to sit. Hermione obliged and sat with one knee gently crossed over the other.

"You were listening at the door."

"Your voices carry."

Silence trickled in before Lucius tiredly exhaled and cupped his hands over his lap. "You are not aware of this, but you had succumbed to a fit of insanity last week. Our family Healers—"

"I'm aware," Hermione interrupted. "Draco told me what happened to me —gruesome details left out, of course."

"Of course," Lucius nodded. "While you are privy to that, I'm sure that you are unaware that Draco had his own bouts with insanity prior to yours."

Hermione's face faltered at that, and while she had expected Lucius to derive mirth from it, he didn't. "He what?"

"Draco doesn't remember, although it's possible that he may suspect it. Regardless, I would appreciate it if you didn't tell him."

Hermione gave a curt nod. She remembered just how terrified Draco had been at his indirect accounts of what she had been through. She didn't want to be the one responsible for instilling such fear in him again —especially if Healers had put Mind Blocks him in just as they had done with her.

"I trust that you understand then why Narcissa resorted to such violent methods," Lucius continued. "It was for the greater good of your sanity."

"The greater good…" Hermione repeated. It made her chuckle really. Whereas she had been livid when Narcissa had first tried such antics for the same purpose, Hermione was now calm. It was comical almost, and she could only sigh and shake her head in amusement. "The age-old story people use to justify heinous acts. And I'm sure that you both would have shed endless tears at my demise if it hadn't gone according to plan," she added sarcastically.

A flicker of recognition flashed in Lucius' eyes, and Hermione knew then and there that she had hit the nail on the head. Typical. "Despite the fact that I'm getting sick and tired of your wife trying to kill me, Draco and I should probably thank you. It made plotting Rodolphus' death a lot easier."

For a man who was the pinnacle of stoicism and elegant poise, Lucius was unable to school his emotions this time around. His mouth dropped, and while Hermione was never one to care about manners, she found herself describing the scene before her as classless.

"Pick up your jaw," she crisply scoffed. Despite the hot directive, Lucius did just that and regarded her with stern, curious eyes.

"You planned to kill Rodolphus?"

"Draco is his mother's son without a doubt," Hermione shrugged. "He was worried about me. While it wasn't what we wanted, Draco and I put our heads together the night before the engagement party and figured that if the guests were already out to get me, might as well make it easy on them. So, we served myself up on a lovely platter. Rodolphus took the bait, we killed an enemy, and now we're sane. It worked out wonderfully, and now here I find out that my mother-in-law was trying to off me."

"That's quite hypocritical of you to say," Lucius huffed. "You turn your nose up at what Narcissa had planned, yet you have done the same. There's no difference."

"Yes, there is. It was a choice that _I_ made. There's a difference between choosing to be a worm on a hook than someone intentionally dangling me in front of a bunch of predators. Can I be frank with you?" Hermione suddenly asked. Lucius had gone down the rabbit hole far enough, and so he gave her the lead with a wave of his hand.

"Go on."

"With my sense of morality dimming each day, I finally have the courage to say something that's been weighing on my heart lately." Hermione uncrossed her legs and sat forward, her fingers interlocked as she placed her hands on the table. With a deep breath she came out with it. "I would kill your wife if it wouldn't upset Draco to do it."

"Then I would kill you in return," Lucius replied without missing a beat. Hermione smiled then and leaned back in her seat.

"Then Draco would kill you —father or not. Interesting how neatly that ties up, isn't it?"

"Yes, interesting indeed," Lucius returned her show of teeth. "With such a tangled web, I suppose this means that we're stuck together then. Such a shame."

"Agreed," Hermione sighed as she rose from her seat. "Still, though," she said, pushing her chair in and letting her hands rest on the chair's back and staring Lucius dead in the eye. "I'd be careful. Your wife isn't the only one who knows how to strategize. It also helps to be the smartest person in the room."

Hermione flashed her engagement ring for Lucius to see before bidding him a lighthearted farewell and headed towards the door. She had barely made it the length of the desk where she had sat when Lucius' words made her pause.

"Will you tell Draco?"

Hermione turned around. Her head tilted as she observed the man who had, once again, let his façade falter. This time he was displaying fear. It wasn't the type of fear that caused a tremble in one's bones, but rather a fear of losing everything one held dear. In this case, she deduced that it was Draco. It was the fear of cocking up so badly that you needed to be reassured everything wasn't going to fall apart. Hermione must have stood for a near fifteen seconds, mulling over the earnestness in Lucius' question and the weight in the air as he waited for her response.

"I haven't decided," Hermione causally replied and watched the light leave Lucius' eyes. A maybe was, most assuredly, death to anyone desperate for an answer.

* * *

 **Author's note:** I had notes on what was supposed to happen in this chapter and I got to none of it LOL. Writing can certainly take off when it wants to lol.

-WP


	13. Dissociation

Sometimes Draco wondered why he worked. No, his family wasn't British royal family rich, but they still had enough that working want a necessity. Draco boiled it down to two things, and one of them was that he needed to be busy. There was nothing good about being idle and it was a complete waste of time. What would he do all day if he didn't work? Read? Watch the garden gnomes make a mess of his mother's favorite flowerbed? It was dreadful simply thinking about it.

The other reason was because he was a skilled wizard and he liked putting those skills to good use. Despite everyone's assumption at Hogwarts that Potions was his favorite subject, it wasn't. It was Charms. Whether it be charms for protection, healing, or memory, Draco was exceptionally proficient in them all. His NEWT scores had allowed him his pick of several departments including those for Magical Law Enforcement. While interesting, he went a different route and instead chose the Department of International Diplomacy. It was as close to politics as one could get without having an official political title. In a nutshell, he got paid to make sure Ministers of Magic played nice with each other. It required high levels of charm, brownnosing, and working with several departments to get the simplest tasks done.

As it stood right now, Draco was helping the Gaming Division set up a Quidditch friendly between Ireland and India. These were always particularly tricky because of transport. Thousands of witches and wizards popping in from hundreds of different locations? It wasn't the location of the Quidditch friendly itself that made it difficult, but rather it was the monitoring of everyone's movements, ensuring proper portkey placement and use, concealing flying routes, and securing apparation spots. Tedious, yes, but it had to get done.

"What the hell happened, Malfoy?!"

No, Draco's door hadn't been locked, but he really didn't think anyone would be bellowing at him prior to 10 a.m. As it turned out, and not very unsurprisingly, Potter would be that person.

Draco sighed, but kept his eyes glued to his work. He had been on an important train of thought, and not even the savior of the wizarding world was going to disturb that.

"Yes, Potter, let's barge right into my office, hm? It's not like I'm busy or anything," Draco drawled as he finished his sentence with the flourish of a fancy cursive curl of the letter "Y." He set his quill aside and finally looked up at the man who had hell's fury in his eyes. While Draco was one hundred percent sure of what the man's problem was, the blond just couldn't help but take the piss anyway.

Draco leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, and grinned. "Problem?"

"You know damn well that there's a problem," Harry sneered as he closed Draco's door. "Hermione got attacked. You promised me that she was safe with you!"

"I wasn't aware that she was dead."

" _Malfoy—"_

"Hermione's alive and well," Draco interrupted as he brought down his hands and folded them on his lap, "and I bashed my uncle's head in to keep her that way. When I promised to protect her, I meant it."

"Right," Harry huffed and crossed his arms. "Let me ask a question then. What was a renowned Death Eater doing at your Manor?"

"Unscrupulous characters know other unscrupulous characters," Draco shrugged. "We didn't invite Lestrange, and that's what I told the Auror who took my statement. Hermione said the same. I can only assume that one of the guests that we did invite had passed on the information."

"Oh, I know what you told Aurors, but only an idiot would believe you. How could neither you nor your parents know that he was there?"

"There were over a hundred people there. Was I supposed to eyeball every one?" Draco grunted.

"To keep Hermione safe? You should have." Harry shook his head, disappointment lacing his features rather than the anger he had had in the beginning. "I should've known that you didn't care enough about Hermione to—"

"Don't you dare question how much I care about her," Draco icily snapped. His joking demeanor had instantly disappeared, and Harry was met with the coldest stare he'd seen since Voldemort himself. "I care about her more than you or anyone would ever know or even understand. You've got questions about Lestrange? Fine. However, questioning my loyalty to Hermione would be the biggest mistake you ever made in your life."

Harry stood completely lost for words. With the conviction that Draco spoke of Hermione, anyone would say that he loved her, but that was…impossible.

"Anything else to say?" Draco demanded. Harry snapped himself out of his internal thoughts and pursed his lips.

"I'm done for now," Harry replied. "Just know that I'll be watching you, Malfoy."

"Enjoy the view," Draco airily waved. "Kiss my arse on the way out."

* * *

What was it like to date Draco Malfoy? Quite simply? It was lovely. Hermione could argue that the curse had something to do with it. Everything the man did and said was like a wave crashing on her heart, but it was the thought put behind Draco's actions that made her think that some part of him wasn't curse-driven.

Their first date after Draco had suggested going on one was as Hermione had expected. It was a restaurant dinner, reserved table away from prying eyes, and they talked about the mundane. The wedding, potential honeymoon destinations, and a plan for house hunting. It was after, however, that Hermione had cherished the most. They went on a walk along a river, silence between them, and enjoying the quiet and the moon's shine. They passed an enchanted set of flowers a few minutes in, and Draco stopped their walk. Without a word he carefully cut one with his wand and handed it to her before taking her hand again and continuing their journey.

Every date went something along those lines. Posh, expensive, and public, and then quiet, intimate, and private. The best part about it all was that it made things between them seem…normal. Hermione supposed that was supposed to be the point, wasn't it? To do something that made this whole disaster turn out for the better? Aside from her and Draco's relationship, she would say that it was working.

The probe into Rodolphus' death didn't last very long —even with Harry poking his nose into it. By the second week after the incident, Aurors were finished. Despite not necessarily being a fan of the Malfoy family, Aurors hated Rodolphus more. A vicious Death Eater was six feet under, so why care? Reporters, not surprisingly, cared quite a bit, and it added to the already scandalous tale of having two notorious enemies wed during this unethical marriage law. Both stories broke at the same time, for Draco and Hermione hadn't been very public with their match until after their engagement party.

Regardless of the entourage of paparazzi, things were still going okay. With Rodolphus' case over and done with it took a weight off of dear Lucius' and Narcissa's shoulders. Despite this, Lucius still shot Hermione a worried glance every now again during the occasional dinner, and it made Hermione smile. No doubt he was still wondering if his son would become privy to the danger that he and his wife had willingly put them in, and to Hermione's delight she would keep him stewing. On the other hand, Narcissa was as happy as she could be as she helped Hermione plan for the wedding. By late November, the brunette was able to give her future mother-in-law her guest list which, happily, included the Weasleys in addition to her own family. It had taken sporadic and awkward conversations with Ron and Ginny to get the ball rolling on that front, but it worked regardless.

By mid-December, Hermione and Draco had settled on a house that consisted of four bedrooms, just as Hermione had requested as recompense for making her go through with that engagement party. Still, she thought it to be too much, but she had fallen in love with the house anyway. Much like Malfoy Manor, it was secluded. While not ideal, Hermione understood the need for privacy with their magical affliction requiring as little eyes on them as possible. The home sat in the middle of a clearing of woods that was massive enough so that it didn't feel claustrophobic. The best part about it was that the home from drivable off of a lightly-travelled main road —perfect for Hermione's parents when they wanted to visit.

Draco had promised her to hire a landscaper to create a garden similar to the one at Malfoy Manor. By April, it was finished. Draco had also commissioned work to be done to the route from the road to their house. While dark and a tad ominous no matter the time the time of day, the trees that lined the road would now forever stay in bloom —the color of their pink flowers enhanced with charms and concealed from muggles not related to Hermione by blood.

The best part about these few months was that neither Hermione nor Draco had had a bout of insanity. No voices. No hallucinations. They just…lived. That certainly helped with the calm that had settled over Hermione's life, but as the month of May reared and the days ticked by, that calm had begun to fizzle. Her wedding was three days away. It wasn't the wedding per se that had the brunette's mind in a haze. Narcissa was quite the party planner and she had every detail for the wedding more than well-handled. As the matriarch told her the closer the wedding date came, the only thing that Hermione had to worry about was walking down the aisle. "Just smile and enjoy your day," Narcissa had told her as the month began. While Narcissa wasn't on the top of Hermione's favorite persons' list, she could at least appreciate the woman's efforts in soothing her. Even if she didn't genuinely care for Hermione, the wedding was Draco's too, and Narcissa would do anything to make sure that it went off without a hitch.

Perhaps that was why Hermione's anxiety was swirling. Her bachelorette party was the one thing that Narcissa hadn't planned —nor would she participate in. It was Daphne's doing. Yes, Daphne. Since the engagement party, Daphne had become the friend that Hermione didn't know she needed. None of Hermione's core group of friends knew how to navigate the pureblood side of life. Draco did, of course, but he didn't advise her from the point of viewpoint of a friend, whereas Daphne did. The witch was now in Hermione's bridal party (much to Ginny's disgruntled nature) along with Luna. The bachelorette party, on the other hand, would include a few other witches —namely Pansy and Millicent. It was a hodgepodge that screamed _danger!_ but Daphne would hear none of it. Neither would Draco.

"It'll be fine," he chuckled as he lay on the bed and watched Hermione pack a few essential items into a small trunk. All of the things she needed for the wedding—like her wedding dress —was already at the chateau Narcissa had rented. "Daphne already told you that she planned something low-key."

"Low-key," Hermione snorted. "This is the same woman who can drink down a bottle of scotch and walk straight. Somehow I think she'll manage to put a spin on things."

Draco opened his mouth to rebut his fiancée, but he quickly realized that he wasn't sure if he'd be honest in his response. Daphne was a poised and dignified witch with the impulsivity and recklessness of a man. It was quite the admiring amalgamation of traits —or so Theo once said. With that in mind, Draco was now sure that the blonde had at least one trick or two up her sleeve. Considering that this bachelorette party was a three-day affair, beginning with tonight, there was bound to be mischief. At _least_ three strippers, but Merlin forbid more…

"Draco, did you hear me?"

Draco blinked. Hermione had finished packing, her trunk by the bedroom door, and she was standing beside him as she watched him with a curious expression and tilt of her head. He coughed to cover himself, but failed miserably.

"Sorry."

He was flustered, Hermione noticed, and she sat down on the bed's edge close enough for Draco to rest his hand on her thigh. Such a small action it was, but she loved the touches of intimacies he consistently showed her.

"Daphne could have one hundred exotic male dancers there, and it wouldn't matter." Hermione chuckled at Draco's grimace, but his face calmed when she touched his cheek. "It wouldn't matter because you're the only man that I'm obsessed with."

"Romantic, yet macabre at the same time," he replied with a curl of his lips. "An interesting combination, don't you think?"

"Perhaps, but I stopped thinking about that long ago."

Draco's smile fully showed then, for he knew just how true that was. "Have fun," he said eventually as he leaned forward and planted a kiss on her forehead, "but not too much."

"Likewise. I haven't forgotten that Theo's throwing you a bachelor party."

"I'll only be in trouble if any of the witches look like you," Draco cheekily replied. Hermione playfully slapped him on the arm while he laughed. His joyous ruckus nearly obscured the bell that rang in the air to let them know that someone had Flooed in. Granted, the screech that came from a certain blonde captured their attention well enough. So did her knock on their bedroom door.

"Come on then, Draco!" Daphne called from behind the door. "You're going to have the rest of your life to stick your prick in the witch. She's mine now."

Draco shook his head and sighed before carefully swinging his legs onto the floor and making it to the door. Daphne stood on the other side with a cheeky grin and her arms crossed.

"Evening, Mr. Malfoy," Daphne happily greeted.

"Mrs. Nott," Draco nodded to her. "I must admit that I'm a bit worried about how enthusiastic you are on kidnapping my fiancée."

"Oh, don't worry your blond little head," she giggled before shouldering her way partially into the bedroom. "I promise that she'll still be marrying you by the end of it all. Ready to go, Hermione?"

"I am," Hermione said as she walked over. "Ginny and Luna should be taking the portkey any moment now."

"Great! Let's get going then. The debauchery starts tonight!"

Draco's jaw slackened, but Hermione's finger closed his mouth as she passed him and stood in the doorway as Daphne left the bedroom. She kissed him then, her heart feeling heavy at knowing that she wasn't going to see him for three days.

"Don't miss me too much," she joked.

"Impossible," he answered before gently pushing her out the door and handing over her trunk. Hermione gave him one last look before hearing the banshee call of Daphne who was still waiting for her.

"You know, for two people who were arranged by the government to marry, you sure don't act like it," Daphne teased as she stood by the fireplace. "I suppose the Ministry didn't cock up too badly in the matching process."

"Oh no, they did," Hermione corrected, "but by some miracle it's been…nice."

"That blush in your cheeks suggests something a bit more than nice," Daphne chuckled. "Come on, let's go."

Hermione resisted the urge to blush even more as she and Daphne entered the fireplace with their luggage and were whisked away. Daphne had utterly refused to tell Hermione where they were going, but when the pair exited the fireplace the blonde was forgiven.

Where they were had a renaissance feel with the ceiling painted with replicas of the Sistine Chapel. The walls were made of marble, not to mention the floor, and there stood a statue of Aphrodite in the middle of the lobby with a pool of water surrounding her.

"Welcome to Lockhart Spa," Daphne announced.

"Lockhart?" Hermione repeated as she hefted her trunk closer to her side. "As in _Gilderoy_ Lockhart?"

"The very same. Makes sense, doesn't it? Build a place that emphasizes beauty and self-indulgence that wizards can enjoy? Lockhart sure knows how to capitalize on vanity —before he went insane, anyway."

"Hermione! Over here!"

Hermione turned to the happy, sing-song voice that had called out to her. It came from Luna, arm-in-arm with Ginny, merrily skipping instead of walking. Ginny appeared to be exasperated, but that was either due to the energetic witch at her side, or at the prospect of the company she'd be keeping for the next few days. It was a tossup really.

"Damn, Greengrass is putting my own bachelorette party to shame," Ginny mused as she looked around her. Hermione laughed as she hugged her and Luna in turn.

"It's Nott now," Daphne amended with a smug grin, "but thank you. You spend your entire life with a mother who hosts an event at home every weekend and you learn a thing or to. Come along then. The den of sin is waiting for us all upstairs."

"Aren't we waiting for Pansy and Millicent?" Hermione asked.

Daphne chuckled and pulled out her wand to levitate all of their trunks. "Who do you think is keeping watch over the chaos?"

"Chaos?" Luna repeated with a tilt of her head. She then whispered for both Hermione and Ginny to hear, "There must be a lot of nargles up there. Can you imagine?"

Hermione could imagine many things, but nargles wasn't one of them. Regardless, she let Luna hook her arms with herself and Ginny, their trunks levitating behind them all. There were elevators up ahead big enough to fit them all and their things. Daphne had pressed the top button labeled _PH_ which Hermione assumed meant penthouse.

"I made the reservation under Pansy's name so that she could check in and get everything set up," Daphne declared. Hermione had opened her mouth to ask exactly _what_ was being set up, but her words died in her throat.

"Bleeding hell…" Ginny breathed. "Of all the times to be married."

"Welcome to paradise, ladies," Daphne exclaimed.

 _Draco would pitch a fit,_ Hermione thought, and she thanked Merlin that he wouldn't be aware of what Daphne had set up. True to the name of _Lockhart Spa_ , the three women had walked into an enormous living space with spa chairs designed for proper pedicures, manicure stations, massages, and facials. What was different about this, however, was that every station was manned by just that. Men. Men clad in underwear that left barely anything to the imagination and nothing else.

"And which one of you is the bride to be?" a man who came out of nowhere from the right asked. Amusingly, he had a Gryffindor tie hung loosely around his neck, and were it not for the brown hair, he could have been Draco's twin. Thank Merlin for the differentiation.

"She is," Luna said brightly as she pointed to Hermione. The brunette felt her eyes widen, but she quickly corrected it with a clearing of her throat.

"Y-yes, that's me. It's me," she replied awkwardly.

"Very good. My name is Lucas," he smiled —perfectly, and with a velvet tone eerily similar to that of Rodolphus, but, thankfully, less menacingly. "I'll be your personal attendant for the next few days. If there's anything that you need, all you have to do is ask."

"Well then, thank you," Hermione grinned. "In that case, do you mind taking my trunk and showing me to my room?"

"Of course."

"And while he's doing that, I'll show you two," Daphne said to Ginny and Luna, "to yours. Oh, Lucas, where are Pansy and Millicent?"

"With Michael and Nikolai. They're getting body treatments."

Daphne laughed at that, muttering a soft, "Of course they are," before heading towards a different hall than the one Hermione was being led. Hermione's room was down a hall to the right. A master bedroom, it seemed, as the room was the size of her living room. It held a king size bed, a _beautiful_ bureau with a mirror attached, a drawer, an armoire, and a lovely chaise with matching armchair. To her delight, there was also a bookshelf to their left, and she suddenly wished she was here alone so she could get cozy in bed with one of the books.

"I'll let you get settled, and then we can get started on the spa treatment of your life," Lucas told her as he set her trunk by the door. "Would you like anything in the meantime?"

"No, thank you, but…I do have a question," Hermione pointed to the tie before asking, "Daphne's idea?"

Lucas smiled and chuckled, but he shook his head. "Miss Parkinson's actually. She thought that you might get a kick out of it."

"Right," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, if you're going to wear that, you'd might as well wear it right."

While a simple fashion accessory, Hermione had grown to appreciate them. Draco had quite the selection of ties to match any ensemble, and one of her new routines as of late were putting them on him. Draco would find her, whether it be after her shower, as she was making breakfast, or as soon as she woke up, hold a tie in his hand and let her fix it for him. Because of him, Hermione had become a tie aficionado and perfectionist.

Hermione placed her hands on Lucas' tie and adjusted it so it no longer hung haphazardly and instead went up to his throat. A quick jiggle to get the knot to the dip in his neck, but it still didn't seem perfect.

"Careful there," Lucas cleared his throat and added a teasing smile. "Don't want to make it too tight."

Hermione briefly looked up from her task, her hands still on the tie, but the rest of her attention focused on Lucas. "No," she agreed as she continued tinkering with the red and gold knot, "we wouldn't want you to choke, would we?"

A low rumble vibrated in Lucas throat, the feel tingling Hermione's fingers as she pushed up the knot with one hand and held onto the rest of with her other. Lucas' laugh turned into a cough, and once again he reminded her not to make it too tight. His words, however, fell on deaf ears. Hermione drew the tie tighter and Lucas' coughing grew louder. The playfulness that he had was gone and replaced with concern. She heard him call her name, yes, but she was lost. Too focused with the way Lucas' brows furrowed, his eyes widening, and the sound of him gasping for air that he couldn't find. He soon brought his hands up to grip her own, but Hermione swiftly kneed him in groin, bringing him down to his own knees. He opened his mouth to try to scream, but she only pulled on the tie with more force, and watched the light leave his eyes.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione blinked. Her vision was blurred at first, but the second blink put things in perspective. Lucas wasn't dead. He was still standing, the tie no longer loose, but not choking him as she had envisioned. Her hands were still on the tie, but she quickly drew them to her body and took a step back.

"Are you alright?" Lucas asked, but Hermione quickly shook off her discomfort, plastered the fakest smile she could muster, and nodded.

"Fine, fine, perfectly okay," Hermione reassured him. "There wouldn't happen to be a nearby owl, would there?"

"Yes. Mrs. Nott figured that you might want to write to your fiancé while you were here. Your personal owlery is right through that door."

Lucas pointed to the door to the right of the entrance, and Hermione thanked him for showing it to her. He left soon after that and closed the door behind him. Once he was gone, Hermione dashed her way into the owlery —twice the size of a broom cupboard and appropriate for a single person's use. There was an owl and plenty of stationary for her use, and she hastily grabbed a bit of parchment, a quill, and messily dipped it into a small pot of ink. Droplets trailed from the ink pot to the parchment, but Hermione didn't care.

 _We have a problem. I'll Floo you tonight when everyone's asleep._

 _Hermione xx_

Hermione attached the note to the owl's leg and sent it off. From where she stood she could hear Ginny outside of her bedroom, telling her to join the fun so that she and Luna "wouldn't be outnumbered by Slytherins." Part of her wanted to do that. She wanted to pretend that the last few moments hadn't happened so that she could enjoy her bachelorette party in peace. Another part of her wanted to stay in her bedroom, afraid that she would dissociate and actually cause harm instead of imagining it. The remaining part of her, and the scariest part, wanted Lucas to return so that she could kill him for real.

Hermione wondered just which part of her would win out.

* * *

 **Author's note:** HELLO! First, I hope everyone is staying safe with the chaos out in the world. Macabre probably isn't the genre everyone is gearing towards at this time, but if so, here ya go. Fun fact about the ties, that was inspired a bit from my boyfriend. He has (and I'm not exaggerating) 60+ ties in his wardrobe collection and it's impressive as heck lol.

Stay safe. I'm praying for everyone, and myself, daily. Hope you're able to do something constructive while we're all practicing social distancing. *HUGS*

-WP


	14. Curbing Insanity

Months of normalcy had made Hermione forget what it was like. The urge to kill was a relentless one. It was a tug in her gut, a weight on her chest, and a buzz in her ear. She spent the rest of the day replaying her moment of insanity as she was pampered like every bride-to-be was supposed to be. As she got her massage, she imagined if the pressure she felt in her back, neck, and shoulders was the same as what the imaginary version of Lucas felt as she choked him. Worse, probably, because he couldn't breathe. There mere thought of it was pure joy.

However, that wasn't all. Lucas had only been the trigger. Her thoughts weaved in and out, showing her flashes of others who had been killed because of her. The vagabond, for starters. Whereas Hermione had been panicked and in disbelief, the memory of it now calmed her. Recalling Rodolphus' death was better, though, because not only had she been in control, but Draco had been there with her. It had been a joint affair, and nothing had thrilled her more than seeing Draco embody Death and speed up his uncle's expiration date.

Hermione's only worry now was that she would lose control in front of her friends. Merlin forbid one of them became her next victim. It made her evening of pampering less soothing than it should have been, and she counted down the hours until her suitemates drank themselves silly into a dreamless sleep. The time ended up being well pass one in the morning, but regardless of the hour Hermione soundproofed her room and sat in front of the fireplace her room came with.

She always hated sticking her head in a fireplace as a Floo activated. It was the biggest headrush even though it only lasted a second, but at least she didn't want to throw up. It was partly mitigated by seeing Draco who was pacing in front of their fireplace at home. At first glance he looked disheveled —worry lines had imprinted deeply into his forehead, and all at once Hermione felt horribly guilty.

"Draco."

Draco stopped mid step, having been completely oblivious to the fireplace activating, and turned to it. He was concerned, that was for certain, but it was apparent that he was also irate.

"Bleeding hell, Hermione, what took you so long?" he demanded. "You can't send a message to me the way that you did and then take ages to Floo Call."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," Hermione frowned. "It was a lot harder to get away from everyone than I originally thought. Please, don't be upset with me."

Draco was still angry, yes, but he couldn't stay so for long with Hermione looking like a scolded child. He eventually sighed as he ran a hand through his hair before sitting down in front of the fireplace. "Just tell me what happened today."

"I had a relapse; that's what happened today."

Any traces of Draco's anger disappeared then as he sat closer to the fireplace. "Did any of them see—?"

"No," Hermione answered quickly, "although I wouldn't be surprised if my personal attendant thinks me odd."

"Daphne got you a personal attendant?" Draco chuckled. "Leave it to her to the extra mile."

"Yes, well, I wish she hadn't," Hermione grumbled. "My insanity slipped because of him."

"Him?"

" _Focus,_ Draco. The whole reason that I'm telling you this is because I thought that I killed him."

Draco's brief moment of jealousy was forgotten and his face fell. They had been doing so well and now… "Was that your only episode?"

"If only," she scoffed as she tiredly ran her hands over her face. "My hallucination was a catalyst. Now I can't stop. I keep seeing flashes of that vagabond's death —especially all of the blood that was left behind. Don't even talk about Rodolphus… Although I picture you more than anything," Hermione added, her mouth tilting into a grin. "That's it, isn't it? It's not killing in itself. It's the excitement that you get from it. It's—"

"—unadulterated pleasure," Draco finished. "That need to inflict pain…it can be hard to ignore." A blood rush, Draco recalled, and his thoughts immediately reflected on one Ronald Weasley and how badly he had wanted to smash him to pieces. A smile threatened to pass his lips, but bearing his witch in mind, he refrained.

"I can't afford to lose myself in front of them, Draco."

"No, you can't," he agreed, "and if you're slipping, then that means I won't be far behind. We're going to have to handle it sooner rather than later."

"How soon?"

Draco didn't answer her. Instead, he rose to his feet and held out his hand. Hermione's face disappeared from the fireplace, but moments later her whole figure was coming through. She placed her hand in his, and any anxiety she had been feeling before melted away. Draco kissed her forehead before gently pulling her along, a hum in his throat as he said merrily,

"Let's go hunting."

* * *

Years of prowling for victims had given the Malfoys a list of places where they could go "hunting." They were often poor towns with a high homelessness rate —easy prey for the couple who were now walking along the streets in the dead of night. Hand-in-hand Draco and Hermione went, smiling at each other every now and again as they rode the growing high that the prospect of a kill would bring. Draco was still humming too, giving the air an ominous feel that may have once scared Hermione, but it didn't now.

"Him," Hermione said suddenly. Draco stopped walking and looked at where she was gesturing with her head. There was an alley up ahead, and sitting at the start of it was a homeless man picking at his nails. "He looks hungry, Draco. We should feed him."

"Aren't you generous," Draco smiled as he held onto her hand tighter. They continued their walk along the deserted street until they had made their way to the alley and stepped into it so they were partly hidden in the shadows.

The homeless man looked up at each of them in turn, clearly bemused at their presence. After a few moments of a staring contest he gruffly shouted, "Wha' do yer want? I'm busy!"

"Yes, we can see that," Draco chuckled. "Nail cuticles are just _filled_ with nutrients."

"Piss off."

"Oh, we can't do that," Hermione shook her head. "We came all this way to offer something to you."

"Yeah? Like wha'?"

"Food," she answered sweetly as she knelt down in front of him. "We have a big house with plenty of it. Come with us."

The homeless man's mouth had dropped. He stared at Hermione first —her inviting grin, wide, warm eyes and nod of her head in an effort to encourage him. Then he looked up at Draco —a stylish fellow for sure. He wore pants too decent for such a late hour, his hands hanging on the rim of his pockets, and a smile like the woman, but more mischievous.

He turned back to Hermione and licked his dry, cracked lips. "Yer mad."

"Only a little," Draco answered from above. He was shushed by the woman, a girlish giggle coming from her after before standing. It was only then did the poor degenerate realize that she was wearing a pink dress. No, no, a slip designed for sleeping.

"It'll be our good deed for the day if you came with us," she urged. "You can eat however much you like."

"I… I don't think—"

"You _want_ to come with us," Draco interrupted with the directive. Hermione watched how quickly the homeless man relaxed at his words, and that's when she noticed Draco's wand in his hand. "You want to come with us. You're not scared."

"I want to come with you," the homeless man repeated as a glaze slipped over his eyes from the Imperius Curse. "I'm not scared.

"Good," Hermione happily replied. "Take my hand then."

The homeless man did just as Hermione said, and with his hand in hers, and her free hand in Draco's, they all disapparated. They landed in the middle of their living room, and before their guest could gasp in surprise and fear, Draco's wand was going again. Calmer and less afraid, Hermione was able to lead the homeless man into their kitchen. Draco sat him down and they talked while Hermione prepared a plate with leftovers from their refrigerator. It made her laugh really, how easily the Imperius Curse could lull someone into such a false sense of security. How it removed what was odd to replace it with the normal. It was a beautiful curse, truly.

The food was finished and Hermione set it down on the table. Basic desires trumped logic every time, and even with Draco's wand now stowed away, the homeless man no longer cared that he was with strangers. He was in a nice home. He was eating good food. He was having a better time than he had in years —maybe even in his life.

"Enjoying yourself?" Hermione asked as she leaned against the kitchen island. Across from her the homeless man was nearly finished with his plate, eagerly chomping along with occasional lip smacking.

"Oh yes, mam. Thank you, mam."

"Of course! We also mustn't forget dessert."

"There's dessert too?" His eyes lit up brightly as he put down his knife and fork. "What is it?"

"Red velvet," Draco said with a grin. He had just closed the refrigerator door and pulled out a glass case with a cake inside. "I hope you don't mind. The Missus likes cold cake."

" _Chilled,_ " Hermione corrected. "I like _chilled_ cake."

"Tomato tom _a_ to," Draco rolled his eyes. He set the cake in the middle of the island and turned behind him to grab a large knife. Hermione began to gently tap her fingers on the countertop as she watched her soon-to-be husband walk around the counter's edge and to the homeless man's side. More specifically, she watched the tip of the knife he held as it tenderly raked the marble countertop.

"Tell me," Draco said at a half-whisper to their guest. He picked up the knife, a soft, skin-crawling _shing_ reverberating in the air as he did so. Standing at the homeless man's side, Draco gestured to the cake with the knife's point. "How big of a slice do you want?"

"Fairly decent, if you don't mind."

"Sure."

Draco quickly brought the knife from one side of the man's neck clear across the other. His shock was palpable, and he fell off his chair onto the floor, a pool of blood streaming out and encircling his head.

"Are you having a slice, Draco?" Hermione asked as she grabbed another knife from their rack and lifting the cover off of the cake.

"Yes, I think so," he said as he set the bloodied knife on the table and sat down where the homeless man had been. "Is there any ice cream?"

"French Vanilla," she replied, taking it out of the freezer and setting it on the counter. "One scoop or two?"

"One, please."

Hermione cut two slices of cake and added a scoop of ice cream onto small plates. Red velvet and French vanilla were such a lovely dessert combination, and the happy couple sat in silence for a while as they ate and savored the sweetness.

"What else does Daphne have planned for your bachelorette party?" Draco asked once he licked his spoon clean. He was always a fast eater when it came to something sugary.

"I'm not sure. She refuses to tell me until the day of," Hermione sighed.

"And what time do you have to wake up in the morning?"

"Breakfast is at eight, so seven, I imagine. Why?"

"Just counting how many hours I have left to ravish you," Draco answered. Hermione looked up from her plate, the edges of her mouth curled up as she licked away remnants of cake and ice cream from her lips.

"Is that so? Well, we shouldn't waste the time then."

Hermione pushed away her plate and walked around the kitchen's island until she was face-to-face with her fiancé. It was from this side that she could fully see the homeless man on the ground, his mouth hanging open as his face bore all the horror in the world. The blood around him certainly added to the grotesque picture.

"Next time, let's not kill anyone in the house," Hermione said. "It makes such an awful mess."

"Anything you say, love," Draco agreed as he pulled her in by the waist and kissed her cheek. "Anything you say."

* * *

After a less than quiet night with his soon-to-be wife, Hermione went back to the spa hotel before the rest of the women could miss her. That had left Draco to deal with the mess.

Rigor mortis had clearly set in, and that often made disposing a body (magically or otherwise) rather difficult to do alone. That was why cleanup crews with the Ministry's mortuary division often employed three or more wizards and witches. Charms didn't cling to the dead as well as one would think. Death was dark. That was why dark magic often worked best when dealing with the macabre and, well, with death. The only way Draco was going to get rid of this body properly was going to be with another wand to strengthen the necessary charms. With a sigh, that meant he was going to have to owl his father.

When said man had entered the kitchen, Lucius wasn't surprised, per se, but clearly this was not the task that he thought his son needed his help with. The older Malfoy looked between the corpse on the floor and his son who was sitting on the other side of the kitchen island and having his morning breakfast.

"Why didn't your fiancée help you?"

"This requires time, and she had to go," Draco told him as he set down his knife and fork onto his plate. "She snuck out of her bachelorette party for this."

"Did she?" Lucius didn't hide his smile at that information and turned his gaze back to the dead man on the ground. "I find that interesting. While Miss Granger has taken to our way of life, I didn't think that she would seek out to kill someone so willingly."

"Hermione hasn't taken to anything," Draco rebutted, but on the inside he felt like a liar. Yes, she was on board with killing someone at their engagement party, but he wasn't about to tell his father that. Instead, he removed himself from his seat and took his dishes to the sink. "She was slipping, and we took care of it."

"Well done," his father praised. "The last thing that we need is for one of you to lose it in front of all of the wedding guests."

Draco scoffed. "Can you imagine? Hermione and I have been drama-free for months. I don't think either of us want to delve into it again."

Lucius didn't say anything, but yes, his son and the future Mrs. Malfoy had been living comfortably ever since their engagement party. Had it not been public knowledge that the pair had been arranged by the Ministry, one would think that they had organically come together. However, he couldn't deny that at least _some_ form of true affection had to have blossomed. It took months for this murder to happen, and Lucius was straddling between what to feel. On the one hand, more time between kills meant less suspicion would be drawn, and on the other hand, Draco cared for a mudblood.

"Ready?"

Lucius was snapped from his inner thoughts to find Draco with his wand in his hand and standing at the head of the body.

"Where are we taking it?"

"Basement. Well, roughly three 'floors' below it," Draco amended with a cocky grin. "We can burn it to ash down there."

* * *

 **Author's note:** My favorite part of this will 100% be the fact that Hermione and Draco just casually ate cake and ice cream with a dead body on the floor. That is all lol.

-WP


	15. Mrs Malfoy

Hermione didn't have to send any more frantic messages to Draco for the remainder of her bachelorette party, and she took that to be a good sign that they had both curtailed a collapse in their insanity. Granted, gleefully committing a murder pointed to instability in all respects, but nevertheless… The brunette got to be pampered without worry. There were crude jokes, awkward dancing, and questionable sounds in the middle of night that fueled the belief that one of the two single witches, Millicent or Pansy, enjoyed these few days away far more than Hermione did.

By the evening of May 19th, they were leaving the spa and headed to Dunrobin Castle in Scotland. No, it wasn't a cliffside castle like she and Narcissa had talked about, but Hermione had come across it in a magazine at her mum's and fell in love with it immediately. She hadn't a clue if it would be possible to hold the wedding there, but she had apparently forgotten the family she was going to be marrying into. Either money, magic, or both, had had a hand in it, but regardless it was done. She and Draco would be getting married out on the grounds at sunset and a highly overdone reception would be held inside the castle walls. Several members of the Weasley family had been gracious enough to head to various members of Hermione's family in order to apparate with them to the castle tomorrow afternoon—something the witch suspected was a guilt move after their brief animosity concerning Draco.

By the next day, her long awaited wedding day, Hermione was woken up from her sleep by a loud, yet still dignified-sounding knock. It was hard to describe, but "restrained" and "urgent" seemed to do it well enough.

"Let me, Mistress Granger!"

The little squeak that emanated from the side of Hermione's bed further woke her, and she sat up abruptly, unfortunately kickstarting a headache. "I'm sorry," she addressed, "but where exactly did you come from?"

"I is Wimbly!" the little house elf said. "Mistress Malfoy has assigned Wimbly to be the house elf of the new Mistress Malfoy!"

Hermione's mouth fell open as she watched _her_ house elf run off across the bedroom and to the door that, yet again, had been knocked on. The brunette might have caved into a few Malfoy habits, but having a house elf was _not_ going to be one of them. She was now utterly determined to free the small creature as soon as possible, but that wasn't going to be happening at this moment. She was distracted by the man who was going to be her father-in-law in just a few hours.

Lucius had walked into her suite after giving Wimbly the most horrid expression of disgust. That was yet another reason for Hermione to set Wimbly free. No one, house elf or human, should be subject to such poor treatment. Hermione reined in her frown by the time Lucius got close enough to notice, and he cleared his throat in order to fully garner her attention.

"Are you lost, by chance?" Hermione questioned. Something akin to a smile twerked at his lips, which she assumed meant that he approved of the little quip. As it stood, it had been a purposeful choice of words as he had once said those to her.

"No," he replied simply. "I merely came to give you something."

It was for the first time that Hermione noticed that Lucius had been carrying something. It looked like a book —a familiar book that she most likely had already read. She couldn't read a title on the cover or the spine, but she could tell that it was leather-bound. Only rare books were in leather these days, but the book didn't appear to have any age.

"A wedding gift?" Hermione asked curiously as she pushed back her comforter and let her feet fall to the floor. She was more than happy that her nightwear was nothing but modest. It still didn't make this moment any less awkward.

"Not a gift," Lucius said as he held out the book. "Rather, it's a necessary tradition. You are being given your own Malfoy journal. Use it however you wish," he added as Hermione took the journal from his hand and sat on the edge of her bed. "As with all of our journals, it's charmed. You are the only person with the ability to read it —while alive, at any rate. Upon your death, its readability is extended to Malfoys only."

As Lucius spoke, Hermione understood why the journal had looked so familiar. She had seen one before. Several of them, actually. A Ministry raid had been performed on Malfoy Manor shortly after Lucius' capture and conviction after the incident in the Department of Mysteries. Of the things that were taken were dozens of little black books —the journals. In her early days as part of a task force to get the wizarding world back on track, she had wondered why, of all things, Aurors would take journals. She supposed that they might have thought something would be of use to them written there. They were right, but the journals were utterly useless now that Lucius had told her of their charms.

Hermione chuckled and looked from the journal to Lucius who still stood near her. "Do you put the charms on yourself?"

"Impressed?" Lucius countered, choosing to dodge the question and instead bask in narcissism. It was a strenuous effort for Hermione to keep in her snort.

"No more impressive than any modified spell," she replied snootily. She derived an unnatural pleasure at the dissatisfaction brewing in his eyes, but it was short-lived as she caved. "However, you must admit that a charmed journal pales in comparison to the, obviously illegal, modifications made on a Malfoy wand."

"That's quite the accusation," he sniffed. "What makes you think that such a thing exists on our wands? It would be extraordinary magic indeed."

Much like her snort, Hermione had to work overtime to keep her eyes from rolling. She suddenly saw all the traits that Draco had as a child manifest before her. The need to be praised. The desire to show off. The _blatant_ fishing. Merlin forbid she ever have the urge to showboat —however restrained the endeavor. It was tiring, to say the least, to play such a game to begin with.

"Not too long ago you helped Draco with a…let's call it a 'project,'" Hermione worded carefully despite no one else being in the room. When Lucius nodded, she continued with a casual shrug. "That's what told me. Draco used a bit of not-so-friendly magic —on a muggle, no less. It wasn't until the high wore off that I realized Aurors should have barreled down on us, but none did."

"Had it been your wand to be used, then they would have," Lucius commented. "We'll have to rectify that as soon as possible. The life of a Malfoy is tricky, and we do what we must to minimize the damage."

"Of course," she murmured, nearly shivering at the nonchalant description of what her life had now become.

"I'll take my leave," Lucius suddenly announced. "After the wedding, write your married name on the inside of the journal," he added as he gestured to the leather notebook in Hermione's hand. "It will also need a bloodied fingerprint to seal the charms."

"I will. Anything else?"

"…Perhaps. A small inquiry, if you will." He paused for a moment, waiting for Hermione to incline her head. Once she had, Lucius tilted his own and gently raised his chin to ask, "Why did you feed that man before killing him?"

Well, Hermione certainly wasn't expecting _that_. Regardless, it was easy to answer for she had thought about it more than once. With a careless shrug she answered him. "He was homeless. I don't know what his life was like prior to that moment had been, but right then it was shit. He at least deserved one good thing to happen to him before the ultimate worst."

Lucius was quiet for a moment as he observed his pending daughter-in-law. Hermione wondered what he thought of her, but it wasn't long before she was enlightened. "You are…a peculiar murderer."

"Murderer yes, but at least I'm no monster," Hermione replied. Lucius said nothing more and finally left her alone. Others may have disputed if there was even a difference between "murderer" and "monster," but to her it gave her a clearer conscience.

* * *

"Hermione?"

" _GO AWAY!_ " Daphne shouted.

It made Hermione's ears bleed considering that the woman was currently fixing the brunette's makeup. She had been shooing away anyone that had come to the suite as Hermione got ready. The only exception to make it through these doors had been Hermione's mother, whom Ginny had brought along with her. Ginny had remained in the room, along with Luna, in order to help with whatever the bride-to-be would need. It was the redhead who had recognized the voice and she got up to answer the door.

"Calm down, it's just my husband."

"So?" Daphne huffed. "The more people that see Hermione, the less dramatic the reveal is going to be!"

"Daphne, it's fine," Hermione told her as she laughed. "I promise. It's not like Harry is going to take a picture of me and show me to everyone."

"Oh, alright, fine. But he's going to be the _only one!_ "

Ginny had already opened the door, happily greeting Harry and noticing that he wasn't alone. "Charlie! Mum said that you weren't going to make it!"

" _For fuck's sake_ ," came Daphne's disgruntled voice in the distance, but Ginny ignored it as she let Harry and Charlie inside the room.

"I wasn't going to until this morning," Charlie happily replied. "It took three separate Floo Port trips to make it from Indonesia, but it worked out okay. How's the bride-to-be?" he called over to Hermione as he slowly made it to her side. "Dreading your future slice of hell, I imagine —no offense to your friend," he added to Daphne.

"Completely taken, but go on," she chuckled. Hermione gently patted Charlie on the arm, knowing full-well that he wasn't on board with the whole 'Malfoy Marriage' as the rest of his family (and others), but the support was appreciated nonetheless.

"It's fine, Charlie, believe it or not. Draco's not the teenager he used to be. We're adults, and we've made the best of things."

"I think he loves her," Luna suddenly declared. All eyes turned to the blonde who had been happily sitting on an armchair while wearing her bridesmaid's dress, her feet tucked under her, and serenely looking up at the ceiling. While everyone looked appalled by the statement with the exception of Hermione and Daphne, Harry was curious as he had had his own assumptions a few months ago.

"Why do think that?" Harry asked. Luna finally turned her gaze from the ceiling and directly addressed him.

"They're having a wedding," she said simply. "Why do all of this if he didn't love her at least a little?"

"Very astute, Lovegood," Daphne beamed as she took a step back from Hermione. She put her hands on her hips and sighed happily. "All done. Now you," she gestured to Harry and Charlie, "are henceforth being kicked out of here. Hermione's got a wedding dress to slip into."

* * *

A sunset wedding was a beautiful idea. It was still bright enough that lighting up the grounds wasn't necessary, but still dark enough to create an alluring ambience. As Draco stood near the wedding officiate, he couldn't help but laugh internally at the wedding guests before hm. There was such a mix here that defied all sense of logic —Malfoy logic, anyway. First and foremost, there were muggles, curtesy of Hermione's family. Then there were the "blood traitors," or so Draco's father had been calling them once he had been made aware of the guestlist. Finally, there were members of his own family and family friends. If Draco was to describe the scene, it would be the side of Light on one side while the side of Dark lay on the right. He imagined that the reception would be very much the same, but so long as no one cursed each other tonight, he would consider it a win.

"You're fidgeting, dear," Narcissa said as she gently ran her hands across his lapel. Draco smiled and gently removed her hands so that he could hold them in his.

"I think _you're_ the one who's fidgeting, Mother," Draco replied as he raised her hands up to eye-level.

Narcissa performed the closest action to an eyeroll as she could get while still being dignified and expelled a happy sigh. "This is a day that every mother dreams of, you know."

"Is it?" he questioned with a cheeky grin. "I didn't know that you were in favor of a marriage law."

"Oh, Draco, stop it. Despite the hideous circumstances, you're still getting married. Besides," she added with a slight lift of her chin, "So I've been made aware, Miss Granger appears to have fully acclimated to our way of life."

"It was either that or go insane," Draco shrugged. "What did you expect?"

"From the person who once told his father that he would prefer insanity over murder? More pushback, if I'm being honest," Narcissa admitted. She ignored her son's curious gaze and kept her hands busy by brushing imaginary dust off of his shoulders. "Nevertheless, you have someone to love you now and to help you carry your burden. Our curse is terrible yes, but it also allows you to love harder because of it."

 _Love harder…_

Draco thought on those words as his mother was told to take her seat for the ceremony that was about to begin. He stood where he was supposed to, hands behind his back, trying not to appear as nervous as his mother had suggested, and wondered how things would be different. Would he feel as in love as he did right now if the love was pure? Was it usually so intense? Or was it a dull ache? Draco had never been in love before, and so he had nothing to compare it to. However, as the procession started, and Ginny, Luna, and Daphne walked down the aisle along with their groomsmen, he realized that he didn't care. His mother was right. He had Hermione now, and that was all that mattered. She liked to listen to him read and fall asleep to the sound of his voice. She hummed when she showered, and he sometimes stood by the bathroom door and eavesdropped. She may have had the worst taste in wine, but her nose crinkled when she drank it. And by Merlin, did the woman have horrendous dinner etiquette. Granted, Draco had had such etiquette drilled into him from a child, but was it really so hard for others to learn? Regardless, he loved every error she made, and every imperfection she had, because that was what made her perfect.

"I do," Draco heard Hermione say. He shook himself out of his inner thoughts, taking a moment to focus on her smile. A true, happy smile, with a twinkle in her eye that lit up the rest of her face.

Draco repeated those very words before Theo handed over the one half of a Malfoy family wedding set that matched Hermione's engagement ring. It slid onto her finger so effortlessly like it was made for her, and maybe because he was riding an increasing high, but when she slid his ring onto his finger, it felt like everything was complete.

When he was finally told that he could kiss her, Draco didn't need telling twice. There may have been groans from both sides of the aisle, but they were tuned out because they didn't matter. They were husband and wife. Murderer and Murderess. Sane and Insane. They were in this for the long haul —blood and all.

* * *

 _August 28_ _th_ _, 2007_

 _I can't believe that I'm actually writing in this thing, but I suppose it was going to happen eventually. I had a journal when I was a child that I used to write in religiously. I spoke of the normal things a child would —school, my friends, and boys that I liked. The difference between then and now is that the fear is gone. Whereas my childhood murmurings could be found out if my mother or father had found my journal, that certainly wasn't the case here. Knowing that no one can read what I'm writing is giving me a liberty that I never once thought I could have. I can pour out my whole heart here without judgement. That's not to say that I fear being judged. It's just…different knowing that your thoughts are truly your own._

 _So, here it goes…_

 _This past Saturday, my "lovely" in-laws hosted yet another event with dozens of people who would have loved to kill me. It wasn't a last-minute affair like the engagement party. Apparently, they threw a party to celebrate the end of summer every year. Innocent enough —minus the guests. Draco had insisted that I didn't have to go, but I promptly asked him if_ _ **he**_ _was going. The tinge to his cheeks had told me yes, and so I put out my big girl cauldron and decided that I would walk among Satan's disciples._

 _The event had proven…interesting, to say the least. Not that anything went wrong. On the contrary, everything went extremely well. People who I thought would string me up on a pole had been polite. No disparaging remarks had come my way, nor was there any dirty look of the eye. It had been so baffling that, of course, I told Draco about it. Surely, the events of the night were strange to him, yes?_

 _Draco had agreed that it was odd, but that it also wasn't altogether unexpected. Naturally they were aware that he had killed Rodolphus. Apparently, none of them were particularly keen on getting killed by him for tampering with his witch —bludgeoned or otherwise._

 _Interesting what one little murder could do._

* * *

 _November 14_ _th_ _, 2007_

 _It's been six months since Draco and I needed to kill someone. It was Draco who was plagued with insanity this time around. It wasn't like mine though. I don't know what he saw or heard, but he came home from work last night absolutely shaken to the core. I tried everything to get him to talk to me, but nothing worked. I began to panic, and I suddenly wondered if_ _ **this**_ _was what Narcissa and Lucius saw that made them force her and Draco's hand to kill. If it was, I can hardly hold a grudge anymore, even though I still want to. Seeing Draco the way that he was today… It hurt me more than I could bare._

 _Years of plotting murders had given the Malfoys tons of strategies, not to mention locations to fulfill them. I didn't dare go back to the same town where Draco and I had gone months ago, and so I picked one off an inexhaustible list. It had been late and quiet, and quite easy to find someone to save my husband. It wasn't until last night that I realized all of the previous murders had been gruesome in some way. Not this time. A quick and clean_ _ **Avada**_ _had been enough, and thanks to tricks of my dear father-in-law, the Ministry were none-the-wiser._

 _I came home to find Draco snapped out of his shock. I had barely had time to set my wand down before he ravished me. Not that I complained. I was just happy to have my husband back._

* * *

 _February, 15_ _th_ _, 2008_

 _I don't know what I expected from Draco for Valentine's Day, but it certainly wasn't what I had expected. I walked into our bedroom to find the floor covered in books. At first, I was going to argue about the mess, but then I caught the title of one of them. Then another. There were about twenty strewn about, and by the time I had read the title of the tenth, Draco cleared his throat from behind me._

 _"Books for my bookworm," he told me with a shrug and grin. It's a bit idiotic to cry over something so simple, but I did anyway. All the books were ones that he had heard me "complain about" (his words) for nearly a year —books so rare that, to my dismay, I had never been able to find. I didn't know that he'd been truly listening._

 _A Malfoy or not. Curse or not. Draco is…a wonderful person._

* * *

 _July 24_ _th_ _, 2008_

 _As I write this, Draco's burning a body._

 _I don't know how quite to feel about this one, though. Granted, any guilt that I_ _ **should**_ _be feeling had been eradicated long ago. I can freely admit now that killing is a necessary pleasure that gives rise to euphoria, and I don't feel sorry for engaging in it. It's the "foreplay," so-to-speak, that comes before it that makes me uneasy. While that, too, is pleasurable in itself —unadulterated, as Draco had once called it, —it's always been accompanied with some sort of insanity first, whether it be me or Draco. This time, however, there wasn't any._

 _We had been home and had just finished dinner. I was washing dishes when Draco came up beside me, leaned against the counter and simply said, "Let's get messy." Not a drop of context, but I knew exactly what he meant. It led to a similar lure of a poor, unfortunate soul back to our home where he was killed in a joint and, certainly messy, affair on our grounds._

 _Are we becoming more vicious? Or do we simply seek enjoyment any way we can?_

* * *

 _October, 8_ _th_ _, 2008_

 _Narcissa is dropping not-so-subtle hints about grandchildren. Draco is tempted to put a curse on the word so that his mother would stop with the badgering, but it's only because she_ _ **is**_ _his mother, that he hasn't. Instead, he's enlisted his father's help to calm her. I know he's certainly in no hurry for a grandchild of muggleborn heritage, and so the task is probably a delight *cue dramatic eyeroll.*_

* * *

 _December 17_ _th_ _, 2008_

 _I hate myself. Even after all of this time I still have Wimbly as a house elf. I'm going to hell._

* * *

 _January 10_ _th_ _, 2009_

 _I told Draco that I loved him today, and while that's nothing new, today I felt like I meant it._

 _We'll be married for a full two years come May._

* * *

 _April 27_ _th_ _, 2009_

 _Three months shy of a full year since Draco and I killed anyone. Oh, the temptation has been there, but the need to be cautious outweighed it. Tonight, however, caution was thrown to the wind._

 _We were hosting a dinner with Draco's parents. They, unfortunately, brought an uninvited guest. He was a lesser known Death Eater, but one nonetheless. I knew that he didn't rank very highly on the Ministry's most wanted list, and so not a complete disaster. Draco, of course, was livid, and it didn't help that the extra dinner guest was clearly not a fan of mine._

 _It didn't take long for the blood vessel in Draco's neck to throb —a clear sign that catastrophe was destined to strike. It took until halfway through the dinner for him to lose it, and Draco took a page out of Harry's old book —or Snape's rather —and I watched as blood began to seep through our guest's clothes as he was ripped apart at the table._

 _Naturally, Lucius and Narcissa were horrified, but they should've known better. Or perhaps they did. Past their shock, I saw discrete smiles on their faces as though they had enjoyed the show. It was a look that I was familiar with, for both Draco and I have been under the influence of nonchalant joy in the past. It was after the body was disposed of that I confronted them._

 _"You brought him for entertainment, didn't you?" I asked Narcissa. She had answered yes almost immediately, and while part of me was disgusted at the ploy, another part of me dismissed it. It had certainly livened up what would otherwise had been a dull evening._

* * *

 _September 23_ _rd_ _, 2009_

Hermione took a deep breath. She had had her quill hovering over her journal for the past ten minutes, but just couldn't bring herself to write in it. It wasn't for fear —Merlin no. She was actually quite happy. There was some silly part of her was antagonizing her. What if she had one it wrong? What if it was simply incorrect? What if something horrible happened along the way? Her paranoia and anxiety just didn't want anything to happen to erase and take away from the joyous moment she was (finally) writing down, and nullify it.

 _I'm pregnant._

* * *

 **Author's note:** BABIES! That is all. Although, I kind of wished I had written that dinner with Lucius and Narcissa out, but there'll be other scenes with them and a few...interesting ones lol.

Thanks for reading and I hope everyone is staying safe! :)

-WP


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